X 


,: 


UNIT.  OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


LUDGATE  HILL  ON  MAY  29,  1660. 


AN 

OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 


GATHERED    FROM    THE   DAYBOOK    OF    MISTRESS 

LOFEJOY  YOUNG,  KINSWOMAN  BY  MARRIAGE 

OF  THE  LADY  FANSHAfTE 


BY- 
BEATRICE   MARSHALL 

Author  of  'The  Siege  of  York,'  'Old  Blackfriars,'  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


T.  HAMILTON  CRAWFORD,  R.S.W. 


NEW  YORK 

E.    P.   DUTTON   &  CO. 

31    WEST    TWENTY-THIRD    STREET 

1903 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

LUDGATE  HILL  ON  MAY  29,  1660     -        -  Frontispiece 

THE  GRAY   HOUSE    -  -  2O 

REPAIRING  THE  CITY  WALL  -  90 

DESTRUCTION   OF  THE  ORGAN   OF  ST.   OLAVE'S    -  -  172 

LADY   FANSHAWE      -  -  2O6 

HAMPTON  COURT   IN   THE  DAYS   OF  CHARLES   I.  -  276 

PRENTICES   IN   MOORFIELDS  -  282 

SIR  RICHARD  FANSHAWE  A  PRISONER  AT  CHARING  CROSS  M2 


[  i» 


2131553 


INTRODUCTION 

'  Here's  flowers  for  you  ; 
Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory  marjoram, 
The  marigold  that  goes  to  bed  \vi'  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping.' 

The  Winter's  Tale. 

THE  Gray  House  in  Chancery  Lane,  with  its  quaint 
gables,  mullioned  windows,  and  carved  timbers,  must 
have  been  in  its  palmy  days  when  the  country  was 
so  near  its  gates  that  cowslip-fields  and  hedgerows 
of  wild-rose  and  honeysuckle  lay  just  behind  the 
houses  on  the  north  side  of  Holborn.  It  was  in  its 
glory  still  in  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
when  those  who  dwelt  beneath  the  roof  of  the  old 
house  during  the  Civil  Wars  heard  one  midnight 
the  distant  rumble  of  fiery  Prince  Rupert's  cannon 
in  that  hour  of  peril  for  the  then  Puritan  capital 
when  King  Charles  came  within  an  ace  of  marching 
on  London,  where  the  rebellion  against  him  had 
been  nurtured,  and  was  only  prevented  therefrom  by 

[  v] 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

his  own  unhappy  knack  of  letting  golden  chances 
slip. 

London  grew  and  grew  (for  the  growth  and  vast- 
ness  of  London  town  have  ever  been  the  wonder  and 
dismay  of  each  succeeding  generation),  the  country 
became  farther  and  farther  off,  but  the  Gray  House 
survived  in  Chancery  Lane  to  bear  its  contemporary, 
the  grand  old  gateway  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  company  as 
long  as  it  was  able.  It  survived  the  days  of  Queen 
Anne.  Coffee  -  house  tattle  was  retailed  in  its 
panelled  chambers,  beaux  and  belles  in  powder  and 
patches  alighted  from  sedans  at  its  door,  and  the 
link-boys  hitched  their  torches  to  rests  on  its 
wrought-iron  gate.  But  in  the  days  of  the  earlier 
Georges  the  stately  exterior  of  the  Gray  House 
began  to  show  the  ravages  of  decay.  It  had  the 
appearance  of  being  slighted,  if  not  altogether 
deserted,  by  its  owners,  and  wore  a  melancholy  air 
of  consciousness  that  it  took  up  too  much  room, 
though  long  before  this  time  its  old-world  garden 
had  been  buried  under  narrow,  cramped  houses  of 
yellow  brick. 

At  last  its  days  were  numbered,  and  the  Gray 
House  was  doomed  to  go  the  way  that  most  London 
buildings  go  sooner  or  later,  even  those  that  are 
hallowed  by  the  hand  of  time  and  touched  by  the 
romance  of  the  past. 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

When  its  doom  was  sealed,  what  remained  of  a  once 
fine  collection  of  pictures,  books,  manuscripts,  antique 
gems,  and  intaglios,  besides  family  records,  were 
removed  from  the  old  house  in  oak  chests  heavily 
carved  in  relief  and  dating  from  the  same  period 
as  its  architecture,  and  were  brought  to  the  Grange 
at  Kingston-on-Thames,  where  there  was  little  room 
to  receive  the  treasures.  The  pictures  were  sold,  all 
but  two  charming  portraits  signed  by  the  hand  of 
Sir  Peter  Lely,  which  were  cleaned  and  hung  in  the 
low-ceilinged  drawing-room,  beautifying  and  gracing 
it  exceedingly.  The  books  that  overflowed  their 
accommodation  in  the  library  lined  the  passages 
and  bedrooms,  and  were  piled  on  the  attic  floors, 
while  the  poor  manuscripts  and  bundles  of  letters 
were  squeezed  into  their  chests  again  and  consigned 
to  a  loft  above  the  barn. 

Years  passed  away,  and  there  came  a  new  mistress 
to  the  Grange  at  Kingston,  whose  maiden  name  had 
been  Young.  She  soon  grew  to  love  the  pair  of 
portraits  which  represented  her  ancestress,  a  certain 
Mrs.  Lovejoy  Young,  and  her  fair  stepdaughter, 
Mistress  Laurel.  As  they  smiled  at  her  from  the 
canvas  day  after  day,  they  seemed  to  become  like 
real  and  living  friends.  How  enchanting  was  even 
the  very  quaintness  of  their  names,  Lovejoy  and 
Laurel ! 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

The  lady  of  the  Grange  spent  many  hours  alone 
with  her  tambour-frame  and  harp,  while  her  lord 
was  in  his  counting-house  in  the  city  ;  but  since  the 
pictures  had  come  to  beguile  her  solitude  she  never 
felt  lonely.  She  liked  to  wonder  and  weave  herself 
stories  about  them,  to  try  and  bridge  the  more  than 
two  centuries  that  divided  her  from  them — she  a 
lady  of  the  early  nineteenth  century,  in  short- 
waisted  sprigged  muslin,  sandal  shoes,  mittens,  and 
mob-cap,  who  is  as  far  off  to  us  to-day  as  the  ladies 
of  Cavalier  and  Puritan  days  were  to  her. 

Not  often,  thought  she,  had  the  artist  who  excelled 
in  painting  those  wanton  beauties  of  the  Restoration 
whom  she  knew  in  the  Lely  room  of  Hampton  Court, 
with  their  rakish  eyes  and  sensuous  charms,  chanced 
on  such  a  subject  for  his  brush  as  this  clear-eyed, 
pure-featured  Mrs.  Lovejoy,  whose  light  brown  hair, 
instead  of  hanging  in  the  fashion  of  her  day  low 
about  her  neck  in  studied  disorder,  was  drawn  back 
from  an  intellectual  brow,  unfrizzed  and  dressed  as 
simply  as  an  early  Italian  madonna's.  Indeed,  there 
was  something  nun-like  in  the  serene  calm  of  this 
lady's  bearing,  despite  the  richness  of  her  blue  and 
ivory  draperies  with  ruby  and  sapphire  clasps,  and 
the  rows  of  orient  pearls  on  her  slender  neck.  Had 
she  always  looked  so  cool  and  tranquil  and  unruffled 
in  those  most  ruffling  and  disturbed  times?  Her 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

spinning-wheel  was  beside  her  and  a  table  on  which 
lay  a  viol,  an  open  music-book,  and  a  bunch  of 
lavender-heads.  Did  she  spin  flax  for  the  household 
linen,  whilst  not  far  distant  battles  were  being  won 
and  lost,  distil  lavender-water,  copy  music,  and  play 
on  the  viol  ?  Yet  those  eyes  with  their  clear,  almost 
keen  outlook,  would  not  be  slow  to  observe.  What 
sights  had  they  seen  in  the  old  London  where  they 
had  first  opened,  and  where  they  had  closed  for  ever  ? 
What  people,  what  changes  ?  If  only  the  soft- 
cornered,  demurely  smiling  mouth  would  open  and 
talk  to  the  lady  of  the  Grange,  and  satisfy  the 
curiosity  her  presentment  had  awakened ! 

But  still  more  curious,  perhaps,  was  the  lady  of 
the  Grange  about  the  original  of  the  other  picture. 
How  charming  it  was,  this  figure  of  a  girl  painted 
in  the  habit  of  a  shepherdess,  in  the  full  bloom  of 
brilliant  youth  and  beauty,  with  pet  lamb  and  be- 
ribboned  crook,  and  in  her  hand  a  nosegay.  Every 
hue  of  the  rainbow  was  in  the  picture,  and  nearly 
every  flower  of  summer  gardens  in  the  nosegay. 
The  artist  seemed  to  have  abandoned  himself  to 
an  unusual  riot  in  colour  when  he  painted  the 
fluttering  ribbon-knots  of  pink  and  yellow,  the  green 
bodice  laced  over  an  open  chemisette  of  white,  the 
gay  striped  kirtle,  and  red  stockings  and  shoes. 
Above  the  dusky  tree,  against  the  trunk  of  which  her 


x  INTRODUCTION 

crook  rested  clouds  raced  across  the  blue  sky,  and 
one  could  almost  feel  the  breeze  that  had  set  her 
skirts  and  streamers  awhirl,  and  her  wealth  of  hair 
flying  behind  her.  A  fair  shepherdess  in  truth, 
though  distinctly  a  counterfeit  one — a  shepherdess 
of  the  garden,  like  the  flowers  in  her  nosegay,  not  of 
the  countryside ;  for  had  ever  a  genuine  shepherdess, 
who  danced  on  the  village  sward  with  her  swain,  so 
graceful  and  erect  a  carriage  as  this  bright-eyed 
maiden  with  her  high-bred  air  ? 

The  portrait,  so  full  of  life  and  undimmed  colour, 
was  carefully  painted  in  all  its  details  down  to  each 
flower  of  the  nosegay.  Damask  roses,  sweet-williams, 
London  pride,  streaked  gillyflowers  and  carnations, 
'queens  of  delight,  and  flowers  whose  bravery,  variety, 
and  sweet  smell  joined  together  tyeth  everyone's 
affection  to  like  and  to  have  them ' ;  heartsease  and 
marigolds  that  go  to  bed  with  the  sun,  bachelors' 
buttons,  and  fair  maids  of  France.  All  these  sweet- 
scented  and  sweet-named  blossoms  were  in  the  nose- 
gay, not  thrown  together  haphazard,  but  placed  in 
their  mystic  order,  intermingled  with  their  due  relief 
of  greenery,  such  as  spikes  of  lad's  love,  marjoram, 
and  rue. 

Sometimes  the  lady  of  the  Grange  had  fancied 
that  the  nosegay  in  the  picture  wafted  a  fragrance 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

over  the  room,  but  really  it  came  through  the  open 
French  windows  from  the  flower  border  outside. 

One  hot,  drowsy  afternoon,  when  even  bees  were 
humming  lazily,  and  the  haymakers  taking  a  nap 
under  the  sunk  fence  between  the  garden  and  the 
meadow,  the  lady  of  the  Grange,  in  her  low- 
ceilinged  drawing-room,  dropped  the  skein  she  was 
winding,  and  gave  herself  up  to  idleness.  Her  eyes 
rested  on  the  two  fair  women  of  the  pictures,  of 
whose  society  she  never  tired,  whose  silent  presence, 
the  longer  they  hung  there,  exercised  a  growing, 
rather  than  diminishing,  fascination  over  her. 

'  I  wish  you  could  speak  as  well  as  smile,'  said 
she.  '  You  both  had  lovely  voices,  I  am  sure, 
especially  you,  dear  shepherdess.  Your  beautiful 
mouth  has  music  in  its  curves.  Did  you  pick  that 
nosegay  yourself  from  your  London  garden,  and 
arrange  it  so  carefully  two  hundred  years  ago  ? 
You  loved  flowers,  birds,  trees,  and  sunshine,  and  all 
beautiful  things,  I  am  certain  of  that.  How  many 
hearts  did  you  break  ?  Not  more  than  you  could 
help,  for  your  own  was  too  warm  and  generous. 
Your  own  true  young  heart — who  captured  it  ? 
Was  it  triumphantly  stormed,  or  taken  by  stealth — 
so  softly  that  you  scarcely  believed  it  was  gone  ? 
Against  whose  conquering  breast  did  it  come  flutter- 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

ing  at  last  ?  I  wish  I  knew.  I  should  so  like  to 
know.' 

Her  eyelids  closed,  and  she  passed  into  the 
country  of  dreams.  There  it  seemed  perfectly 
natural  to  meet  Mrs.  Lovejoy  out  of  her  frame, 
trailing  her  azure  and  ivory  raiment  over  the  Elysian 
fields  of  dreamland,  and  Mistress  Laurel,  too,  with 
her  nosegay  and  curly  pet  lamb  trotting  at  her 
dainty  red  heels.  The  lady  of  the  Grange  had  her 
wish,  and  heard  their  voices — low,  sweet,  and 
dreamy,  as  if  coming  through  a  mist,  they  sounded 
to  her  ears,  though  they  themselves,  she  thought, 
stood  in  the  flesh  close  beside  her. 

'  You  would  fain  be  nearer  acquainted  with  our 
history  ?  Then  you  must  search  among  the  papers 
in  your  loft,'  said  Mrs.  Lovejoy  Young. 

'  Yes,  my  mother's  journal  and  my  own  letters 
must  be  there,  lying  in  one  of  the  carven  chests,' 
added  Mistress  Laurel.  '  There  you  may  find 
answers,  perhaps,  to  some  of  the  questions  you 
asked  just  now,  and  other  things  of  greater  interest. 
Mother  was  a  better  scribe  than  I  was,  or  than  most 
women  of  our  day.  Methinks  what  she  writ  will 
yet  be  worth  anyone's  reading.' 

'  No,  no  !'  protested  the  fair  scribe.  '  It  is  so  old 
now,  and  the  ink  faded.  Even  should  you  try, 
you'll  scarce  be  able  to  decipher  it.' 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

'  Nay,  for  all  its  great  age  and  faded  ink,  'tis  fresh 
and  sweet  as  this,'  and  Mistress  Laurel  held  forth 
her  nosegay. 

But  as  she  did  so,  its  bright  flowers  withered  and 
fell  from  her  hand.  One  flower  she  still  held,  but 
that  had  not  been  in  the  nosegay.  In  shape,  in 
colour,  it  was  strange  and  unfamiliar  to  the  lady  of 
the  Grange. 

'  They  call  it  fritillary,'  Mistress  Laurel  said. 

Her  voice  died  in  a  sob,  and  she  was  no  longer  the 
brilliant  shepherdess,  but  a  sad,  ghostlike  figure, 
growing  grayer  and  grayer,  and  fainter  and  fainter, 
till  she  and  her  companion  vanished  away. 

The  lady  of  the  Grange  awoke  with  a  start  of 
relief,  for  there,  above  her,  smiling  as  radiantly  as 
before,  were  the  visions  of  her  dream  back  again  in 
their  frames,  and  the  nosegay  bloomed  unfaded  in 
Mistress  Laurel's  hand. 

In  great  excitement,  and  very  wide  awake  now, 
the  lady  of  the  Grange  followed  up  the  clue  her 
dream  had  given  her.  She  ran  out  across  the  lawn 
through  the  plantation  to  the  barn,  and  climbed  up 
to  the  loft,  catching  her  muslin  gathers  on  nails  by 
the  way,  unheeding,  in  her  eagerness  to  unbury 
Mrs.  Lovejoy's  journal,  and  forgetful  of  her  natural 
terror  of  spiders  and  rats.  She  lifted  the  heavy  lids 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

of  the  chests,  which  were  too  full  to  be  locked,  and 
knelt  on  the  hard,  dusty  floor  to  ransack  them. 
The  lengthening  sunlight  of  the  hot  summer's  day, 
lying  aslant  the  loft  in  shimmering  bars,  illumined 
pitilessly  the  old,  mouldering  yellow  papers,  with 
their  scrawls,  and  blots,  and  flourishes.  In  those 
days,  to  our  gain,  people  did  not  burn  their  letters, 
and  the  uses  of  the  waste-paper  basket  seem  to  have 
been  unknown.  Here  were  bundles  and  bundles  of 
letters,  stacks  of  old  bills,  deeds,  rent-rolls,  house- 
hold accounts,  and  recipes  in  wild  confusion. 

The  lady  of  the  Grange  rummaged  long  and 
perseveringly  in  this  chaos,  and  was  at  last  rewarded. 
She  came  on  a  book  bound  in  vellum,  discoloured 
by  age,  and  spotted  by  damp,  with  a  tarnished 
scutcheon  on  its  cover.  Attached  to  the  book  by  a 
ribbon  were  three  packets,  tied  up  separately,  and 
labelled  :  '  My  husband's  letters,  writ  to  me  before 
and  after  marriage ;'  '  Letters  writ  by  my  step- 
daughter Laurel  from  Bristol  and  elsewhere  ;'  '  Sun- 
dry letters  from  my  brothers,  and  sisters,  and 
friends,  chiefly  from  my  husband's  kinswoman  and 
my  own  dear  friend,  Sir  Richard  Fanshawe's  lady.' 

Here  and  there  in  the  book  were  many  blank 
pages,  but  the  written  ones  were  closely  filled 
with  a  fine,  exquisite,  clear  penmanship,  very 
characteristic  of  the  young,  madonna-like  matron  of 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

the  picture.  The  lady  of  the  Grange  believed  she 
could  have  identified  the  handwriting  at  a  glance  as 
Mrs.  Lovejoy's,  even  if  her  sweet,  quaint  name  had 
not  been  etched  on  the  fly-leaf  beneath  true-lovers' 
knots. 

'  It  is  of  antiquarian  value  and  human  interest,' 
said  a  gentleman  of  the  Heralds'  College  who  came 
to  dine  one  night  at  the  Grange,  and  to  whom  his 
hostess  proudly  displayed  her  precious  find.  '  Some- 
thing might  be  made  of  it.' 

'  And  I  intend  to  make  something  of  it,'  the  lady 
said — 'a  nosegay  !  Oh,  I  shall  be  so  busy  when  the 
winter  evenings  come,  gathering  my  nosegay.' 

And  when  the  winter  evenings  came,  and  the 
damask  curtains  were  drawn,  and  the  firelight 
danced  on  the  two  portraits  in  the  low-ceilinged 
drawing-room,  the  lady  of  the  Grange  neglected 
her  harp  and  tambour-frame,  '  Clarissa  Harlowe,'  and 
the  last  new  Waverley.  She  sat  at  her  escritoire, 
pen  in  hand,  with  two  tall  wax  candles  on  either 
side  of  her  bent  little  head,  making  extracts  from 
the  old  vellum-bound  manuscript-book  and  the 
packets  of  letters.  But,  though  she  loved  her 
task,  she  seems  to  have  progressed  but  slowly  with 
it,  and  then  to  have  come  to  a  standstill  altogether. 
She  bore  children,  and  the  changes  and  chances  of 
this  mortal  life  brought  her  sickness  and  sorrow. 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

So   once   more   it   was   the  fate  of  Mrs.   Lovejoy's 
journal  to  be  put  away  and  forgotten. 

Years  afterwards  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  much  later 
descendant  to  discover  it  for  the  second  time,  and 
she  it  is  who  now  ties  the  nosegay  together,  in  its 
present  form. 


AN  OLD  LONDON   NOSEGAY 

i 

WRIT  AT  THE  GRAY  HOUSE, 
CHANCERY  LANE,  1642. 

MY  husband,  Mr.  Gabriel  Young,  brought  me,  his 
second  wife,  hither  a  week  ago  after  we  were  wed  in 
the  Church  of  St.  Olave,  in  Hart  Street.  At  that 
church  my  father,  Master  Aurelius  Howard,  Doctor 
of  Music,  is  organist.  He  is  also  a  teacher  of  sing- 
ing, and  his  method  of  training  the  voice  is  held  in 
great  esteem,  and  brings  him  pupils  to  the  high, 
narrow  house  at  the  corner  of  Crutched  Friars, 
where  I  was  born  and  lived  all  my  life  till  I  married, 
which  I  never  thought  to  do,  but  God  ordained  it 
otherwise. 

Sir  Oracle  (in  playful  fondness  I  sometimes  call 
my  husband  this,  because  in  years  and  wisdom  he  is 
so  much  greater  than  I  am,  and  seems  to  me  verily 
an  oracle)  is  scholarly  in  his  tastes,  and  has  a  rare 

i 


2  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

knowledge  of  books.  He  possesses  hundreds,  yet 
doth  go  most  days  the  round  of  the  booksellers  in 
Paul's  Churchyard  in  search  of  new  treasures,  for  he 
says  a  craving  for  Caxtons  is  not  easily  satisfied. 

This  morning  as  we  paced  together  the  walks  of 
Gray's  Inn,  the  winter  air  being  very  bright  and 
clear,  and  every  twig  and  blade  of  grass  crystallized 
by  the  frost  so  that  'twas  like  walking  in  fairyland, 
Sir  Oracle  told  me  he  had  often  in  past  days  met 
the  great  Lord  Chancellor  Bacon  here,  and  showed 
me  the  tree  he  had  planted  and  the  seat  where  he 
had  once  seen  him  dictating  to  his  secretaries.  Then 
Sir  Oracle  drew  from  the  parcel  he  had  carried  from 
the  booksellers  this  fair  manuscript  book,  vellum 
bound,  with  his  scutcheon  in  a  lozenge  of  gold  on 
the  cover,  and  etched  within  on  the  fly-leaf  my  name 
beneath  true-lovers'  knots.  He  said  he  would  have 
me  write  in  it,  when  I  was  so  minded,  of  what  I  see 
and  hear  and  do  in  these  times,  which  are  so  troubled 
and  eventful. 

Methinks  I  shall  be  so  minded  often,  if  not  every 
day,  and  I  was  impatient  to  come  in  from  Gray's  Inn 
Gardens  at  once  and  make  a  beginning.  I  cherished 
a  fancy  long  ago  to  keep  a  journal,  but  I  never  had 
leisure  to  keep  ought  but  accounts  and  copy  music 
in  my  father's  house  in  Hart  Street,  where  the  burden 
of  domestic  cares  fell  early  on  me,  the  eldest  daughter, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  3 

my  mother  having  died  at  the  birth  of  our  little 
Jack. 

From  the  attic  dormer  of  my  old  home,  above  the 
housetops,  is  to  be  seen  Tower  Hill  and  the  great 
Tower  Prison,  rising  like  a  square  grim  giant  against 
the  sky,  and  a  glimpse  of  the  flowing  Thames,  with 
its  freight  of  ships  and  barges  ;  but  from  the  lower 
windows  there  is  nothing  to  look  at  except  the 
crooked  houses  opposite,  with  their  pointed  gables 
overhanging  and  shadowing  the  street.  Here,  as  I 
sit  at  an  oaken  writing-cabinet  in  the  sunny  oriel  of 
my  closet  in  this  new  home,  so  fine  and  spacious 
that  I  can  scarce  feel  at  home  in  it  as  yet,  my  eyes 
may  wander  if  I  choose  from  the  bowling-green  and 
walled  pleasance  below,  where  the  big  carved  sundial 
marks  the  flight  of  time,  to  the  green  fields,  now  frost- 
spangled,  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  beyond  I  can  picture 
the  country  road  that  doth  lead  from  Holborn  up  to 
the  windmills  and  wild  heights  of  Hampstead. 

It  is  a  vastly  pleasant  prospect,  yet  I  turn  my  head 
ofterier  citywards,  thinking  of  those  I  have  left  at  the 
corner  house  in  Hart  Street,  and  how  they  are  faring 
without  me. 

It  was  always  my  reward  and  great  pride  to  hear 
my  father  say  that  I  was  the  mainstay  of  his  house, 
and  had  filled  with  tender  care  and  vigilance  the 
place  of  mother  to  my  motherless  brothers  and 

i — 2 


4  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

sisters.  And  when  he  used  to  sigh  and  ask  what  he 
should  do  when  the  day  came  for  me  to  desert  the 
nest  for  a  nest  of  my  own,  I  vowed  a  hundred  times 
such  a  day  would  never  come  ;  indeed,  I  was  well 
content  to  be  my  father's  right  hand,  and  had  no 
dreams  of  a  husband  for  myself,  though  when  I 
marked  how  fast  Peg  and  Prue  grew  out  of  their 
kirtles,  methought  the  time  might  not  be  far  off  when 
I  should  have  to  choose  husbands  for  them.  At  the 
same  time,  I  remember  that  I  soundly  scolded  Peg 
for  going  with  some  other  maids  to  a  gipsy  fortune- 
teller at  Bartholomew's  Fair  to  try  and  learn  her 
destiny,  which  said  she  was  to  be  wed  to  a  flaxen- 
haired  gallant.  Now  Peg  has  taken  my  place  at 
home,  and  I  hope  she  will  keep  up  all  her  promises 
to  me,  and  be  sensible,  and  give  up  curtseying  to  the 
new  moon  through  glass,  counting  all  the  white 
mares  she  meets,  and  other  like  follies.  Both  she 
and  Prue  play  prettily  on  the  virginals  and  harpsi- 
chon,  and  the  boys  can  take  their  part  on  the  bass 
and  treble  viols.  It  has  been  said  in  jest  that 
my  father  must  have  taught  his  little  ones  to  play 
some  instrument  ere  they  had  learned  to  walk,  their 
youthful  proficiency  being  greatly  wondered  at  and 
admired  by  gentlemen  of  the  King's  Chapel  who 
now  and  then  have  visited  my  father. 

Mr.  Will  Lawes  himself  has  supped  with  us  in 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  5 

Hart  Street,  and  with  him  once  came  his  friend  from 
Aldersgate,  Mr.  Milton,  the  poet,  who  said  when  little 
Jane  and  Jack  joined  in  his  father's  madrigal  they 
were  like  Raphael's  angels,  and  their  tuneful  voices 
gave  forth  sweeter  music  than  any  instrument  made 
by  human  hands.  I,  for  my  part,  have  ever  loved, 
above  all  things,  the  rich,  swelling  notes  of  the 
organ,  on  which,  so  soon  as  I  had  the  strength,  my 
father  did  teach  me  to  play.  Often  I  snatched  a 
half-hour  to  practise  on  the  pair  of  organs  in  the 
church,  and  the  producing  of  those  rolling  waves  of 
harmonious  sound  rilled  me  with  ecstasy. 

'Tis  thinking  of  the  organ  that  brings  me  to  the 
story  of  my  short  wooing  and  the  spring  morning 
when,  'twixt  the  counting  of  linen  and  pastry-making, 
I  found  the  time  to  run  over  to  the  church,  taking 
little  Jane  and  Jack  with  me.  Jack  was  my  blower, 
and  Jane  put  her  dolls  on  a  tomb  to  bed,  while  I — 
overambitious,  my  father  would  have  said — plunged 
into  ,a  mass  of  Palestrina's.  Wrapped  in  the  music,  I 
did  not  hear  footsteps  in  the  aisle  till  Jane  came  and 
tugged  my  sleeve,  and  whispered,  '  See,  here  cometh 
your  dear  Anne  Harrison*  and  a  tall  gentleman.' 

I  looked  round,  and  saw  the  vision  of  bright 
young  girlhood  that  my  eyes  could  but  greet  with 

*  Afterwards  Lady  Fanshawe. — ED. 


6  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

pleasure,  though  I  knew  she  would  bid  me  at  once 
be  done  with  Palestrina.  She  came  towards  us 
beneath  the  gray  arches  of  the  pillars,  with  dancing 
step  and  dancing  eye,  her  light  curls  aquiver, 
catching  the  stray  sunbeams  as  she  walked.  The 
summer  before  Anne  had  lost  her  mother,  the 
dearly-loved,  gracious  lady  of  our  nearest  neighbour 
of  quality,  Sir  John  Harrison,  who,  with  his  family, 
came  from  Hertfordshire  every  autumn  to  live  the 
winter  months  at  the  great  house  with  the  courtyard 
and  wrought-iron  gates  in  Hart  Street,  which  he 
rented  from  the  Lord  Dingwall.  Till  then  Mistress 
Anne  had  been  the  gayest,  wildest,  sauciest  romp 
in  the  world,  and  she  came  to  town  full  of  tales  of 
her  pranks  and  rides  on  bare-backed  ponies  in  the 
country,  which  only  to  hear  excited  the  amazement, 
and  envy  withal,  of  our  London-bred  Peg  and  Prue. 
But  after  my  Lady  Harrison's  death  Anne  had 
changed  and  become  more  sedate,  and  assumed  at 
times  an  air  so  grave  and  sober  for  her  years  that 
she  seemed  a  more  fit  companion  and  confidante  for 
me  than  for  Peg,  who  was  more  her  age.  She  sought 
my  counsel  often  in  the  management  of  household 
affairs,  which,  young  as  she  was,  she  had  taken  on 
her  shoulders,  as  I  had  done  when  my  mother  died. 
She  would  fain  profit  by  my  experience,  she  said, 
and  I  gladly  gave  her  advice,  though  methought 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  7 

there  was  a  vast  difference  in  her  circumstances  and 
mine  ;  for  in  her  father's  house  was  a  great  number 
of  servants,  and  no  scarcity  of  money,  whereas  we 
had  but  two  serving-maids  and  a  cook-boy,  and 
'twas  a  difficulty  sometimes  how  to  make  two  ends 
meet.  Especially  anxious  had  I  been  in  this  respect 
when  it  was  necessary  to  equip  my  eldest  brother, 
Roger,  for  his  voyage  to  Aleppo,  he  being  bound 
apprentice  to  a  Turkey  merchant.  I  was  at  my 
wits'  end  how  to  get  him  all  the  needful  holland 
caps,  handkerchiefs,  and  doublets,  not  to  speak  of 
thread  stirrups,  stockings,  gloves,  and  cloth  socks. 
And  though  Roger  had  complained  that  our  house 
was  too  small  for  the  number  of  children  and 
musical  instruments,  and  that  he  was  often  dis- 
traught with  too  much  music,  he  would  not  be 
content  to  go  abroad  without  a  new  guitar.  But 
this  was  given  him  by  his  godmother,  the  widow 
Travers  in  Seething  Lane,  who  doth  profess  an 
abundance  of  affection  for  my  father's  children, 
which  they,  suspecting  'tis  for  his  sake  rather  than 
for  their  own,  do  not  return  very  warmly. 

Peg  may  safely  be  trusted,  methinks,  to  keep 
Widow  Travers  at  a  distance. 

Well,  I  must  not  wander,  but  will  come  back  to 
the  morning  when  I  looked  round,  with  my  ringers 
still  on  the  organ  keys,  and  saw  Anne  Harrison 


8  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

tripping  up  the  aisle  of  St.  Olave's.  She  left  the  tall 
gentleman  far  behind  her,  he  having  lingered  to  gaze 
at  the  kneeling  stone  figures  of  the  Bayning  brothers 
in  their  ruffs. 

The  best  company  I  had  ever  met,  mostly  clergy- 
men, had  been  at  Sir  John  Harrison's,  but  this 
gentleman  was  not  a  clergyman,  and  a  stranger 
to  me. 

'  'Tis  my  cousin  Young,'  explained  Anne  in  a 
lowered  voice,  sweeping  my  hands  from  off  the  keys, 
and  holding  them  in  hers.  '  He  was  so  ravished  by 
your  sweet  strains  that  I  could  not  get  him  to  budge 
beyond  the  church.  Since  his  lady  died  of  con- 
sumption in  France  he  hath  lived  there  mostly  with 
his  two  girls,  but  now  has  come  to  attend,  with  my 
father,  the  trial  of  my  Lord  Strafford.  He  will 
much  glory  in  making  your  acquaintance,  Lovejoy.' 
Then,  softening  her  voice  still  more,  Anne  added 
mischievously  :  '  He  is  in  sore  want  of  a  second  wife, 
for  his  daughters  are  becoming  a  handful,  and  you, 
dear  Lovejoy,  are  so  demure  and  sweet  a  personage, 
so  skilled  in  housewifely  arts,  and  in  music  withal, 
that  if  only  you  were  as  old  as  you  seem,  and  he 
young,  not  only  in  name,  it  would  be  a  suitable 
match.' 

'  Tut !'  said  I.  '  Let  us  go  without  into  the 
churchyard  if  you  would  banter.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  g 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Young  came  forward,  so 
Anne  presented  me  to  him  as  her  very  dear  and 
cherished  friend,  Mistress  Lovejoy  Howard,  daughter 
of  that  good  musician  Dr.  Aurelius  Howard,  whose 
scholar  she  was  on  the  virginals. 

Before  I  could  respond  to  the  stranger's  civilities, 
Jack,  flushed  and  proud  from  his  work  at  the 
bellows,  would  insist  on  claiming  the  wage  I  had 
promised  him,  which  was  marchpane  and  a  manchet, 
to  be  divided  'twixt  himself  and  Jane  beneath  the 
trees  in  the  churchyard.  With  him  dragging  at 
my  skirts  on  one  side,  and  Jane  holding  her  face 
in  their  folds  on  the  other,  in  pretended  shyness  of 
Mistress  Anne's  coaxings,  we  went  out  by  the  south 
door  into  the  April  sunshine.  Other  children — 
playmates  of  my  little  brother  and  sister — flocked 
round  the  bench  I  sat  down  on,  in  the  shade  of  the 
budding  branches,  where  the  rooks  were  cawing. 
Anne  Harrison  flitted  over  the  sward,  out  through 
the  gateway  with  the  skulls  on  it,  and  left  her  cousin 
watching  me  as  I  distributed  the  dainties  among  the 
little  ones. 

In  the  broad  sunlight  I  noticed  that  his  hair  was 
more  silvered  than  my  father's,  and  his  brows  lined 
and  thoughtful,  but,  beneath  them,  the  kindly  eyes 
had  something  of  youth  in  their  hazel  clearness. 
His  sad-coloured  suit  was  very  rich,  relieved  by 


io  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

velvet  slashings  and  points  of  lace  at  the  neck  and 
wrists.  He  had  a  violet  lining  to  his  cloak,  and  a 
long  feather  curled  downwards  from  his  low-crowned 
beaver.  I  was  unconcerned  at  his  standing  there 
while  I  fed  the  children  with  marchpane,  and  after- 
wards, when  they  clamoured  for  it,  told  some  silly 
tales  of  dragon-slaying,  hobgoblins,  brave  knights,  and 
bewitched  princesses.  Had  it  been  Anne's  sparkish 
brother,  Abraham  Harrison,  who  stood  and  thus 
listened  to  me,  I  warrant,  though  I  had  been  long 
acquainted  with  him,  I  should  have  been  embarrassed 
enough.  But  in  this  strange  gentleman's  presence  I 
felt  an  unusual  ease  and  confidence,  and  'twas  as  if 
I  must  have  met  and  known  him  somewhere  before. 
Not  till  later  did  I  recall  that  a  small  picture  of  him 
by  Sir  Anthony  Van  Dyck  hung  in  a  room  at  Balls, 
in  Hertfordshire,  the  Harrisons'  country  house,  and 
whilst  I  tarried  there  last  summer  to  bear  Anne 
company  for  a  few  days  in  her  sorrow,  the  painted 
eyes  had  seemed  to  rest  on  me,  no  matter  in  what 
part  of  the  room  I  might  be,  with  the  same  friendly, 
penetrating  look  as  did  the  original  ones  in  St.  Olave's 
Churchyard. 

He  himself  hath  told  me  since  that,  with  the  sun 
glinting  on  my  hair  through  the  boughs,  with  little 
Jack  in  my  lap  leaning  his  gold,  curly  head  against 
my  bosom,  and  Jane  beside  me,  the  other  neighbours' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  IT 

children  on  the  grass  at  my  feet,  I  reminded  him  of 
some  Madonna  of  Botticelli,  and  there  and  then  he 
did  resolve,  if  possible,  to  woo  me  for  his  wife. 

Before  the  spring  was  out,  Master  Young  had  sat 
often  in  our  narrow  parlour,  with  its  buff  wainscot, 
and  listened  attentively  to  many  an  intricate  fancy 
out  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  music-book,  performed  on 
the  harpsichon  by  Peg  and  Prue.  He  would  join, 
too,  in  catches  and  madrigals,  for  he  is  a  musicianly 
gentleman  as  well  as  a  scholar.  He  spoke  to  me  of 
the  two  daughters  being  educated  with  their  foster- 
brother  in  France,  whither  their  mother  had  been 
taken  for  her  health,  and  where  she  had  died  of 
consumption ;  and  he  said  that  the  one  could  warble 
like  a  skylark,  having  a  voice  of  wondrous  sweetness 
and  rare  compass,  while  the  other  was  voiceless,  she 
being  born  deaf  and  dumb. 

'  How  pitiful  sad  !'  I  said,  lifting  my  eyes  from  the 
pile  of  mending  before  me.  '  What  is  her  name  ?' 

'  She  was  christened  Margaret,'  said  he,  *  but  she 
hath  been  called  Silence  since  it  became  certain  she 
would  never  speak.  Poor  little  Silence  !  Hers  is  a 
great  and  stormy  spirit,  which,  when  roused,  some 
say,  is  like  an  evil  demon ;  but  her  face  is  fair  as  any 
angel's.' 

He  sighed,  and  I  met  his  eyes  with  tears  of  sym- 


12  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

pathy  in  mine  for  his  child's  affliction ;  then  he  drew 
his  chair  nearer  to  me,  for  we  were  alone  in  the 
room.  The  chicks  were  abed,  the  schoolboys  at 
their  tasks,  and  Peg  and  Prue  had  run  upstairs  to 
tend  the  row  of  flower-pots  on  the  little  wooden 
balcony  in  the  gable.  Their  laughter  and  prattle 
came  down  to  us  through  the  open  casement  and 
mingled  with  the  tinkle  of  the  virginals  from  the 
study,  where  my  father  was  busy  with  a  pupil. 

'  Both  my  rogues,'  Master  Young  continued,  '  need 
a  mother's  firm  and  gentle  guidance.  None  I  know 
could  give  it  them  so  excellently  well  as  you,  though 
you  are  but  young  in  years.  Sweet  Mistress  Love- 
joy,  will  you  be  a  mother  to  them  and  a  precious 
wife  to  me  ?' 

This  was  no  lover  to  call  forth  blushing  airs  and 
bashful  coquetries.  I  felt  myself  quite  calm,  and 
answered  steadily : 

'  I  would,  but  I  have  vowed  never  to  leave  my 
father  ;  indeed,  sir,  methinks  they  could  ill  spare  me 
here.' 

'  Your  father  will  let  you  cancel  your  vow,  and  has 
already  granted  me  leave  to  steal  his  jewel  if  she 
consents  to  be  stolen,'  he  said. 

So  my  father  knew,  and  'twas  his  doing  that  Peg 
and  Prue  had  scampered  to  the  top  of  the  house, 
that  Tim  did  not  come  bouncing  in  to  ask  my  help 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  13 

with  his  Latin,  and  that  Penelope,  our  old  serving- 
woman,  had  refrained  from  summoning  me  to  ad- 
minister to  little  Jack  a  rhubarb  draught  ere  he  laid 
himself  abed. 

I  did  not  give  Master  Young  my  answer  till  I  had 
talked  with  my  father.  That  night  I  asked  him  if 
'twas  indeed  true  that  he  was  ready  to  part  with  me, 
after  all. 

'  Ready  ?  Nay,  dear  wench,'  he  said  ;  '  but  I 
would  fain  not  think  of  myself  and  stand  in  your 
way  if  you  have  a  mind  to  accept  the  suit  of  this 
courteous  and  Christian  gentleman.  He  doth  intend 
to  live  in  London,  though  he  hath  estates  in  the 
country,  so  we  shall  not  lose  thee  altogether,  my 
Lovejoy.  Truly  you  have  been  my  comfort  and  the 
light  of  my  eyes  since  your  mother  was  taken  from 
me.  But  shall  I  doom  thee  for  that,  fair  flower  of 
maidenhood,  to  wither  on  the  virgin  stem  when  an 
honourable  man  would  have  thee  for  his  wife — and 
a  rich  man  withal  ?' 

I  had  not  thought  of  myself  in  the  light  of  a  rich 
man's  wife,  and  it  did  now  flash  across  my  mind  how 
in  such  a  position  I  could  be  of  much  benefit  to 
those  I  loved.  Belike,  I  might  help  to  start  the 
boys  when  'twas  time  for  them  to  finish  their  studies 
at  Paul's  School.  Peg  and  Prue  should  not  have 
cause  to  say  any  more  they  were  ashamed  to  go  into 


14  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

fine  company,  inasmuch  as  they  had  no  pretty  gowns 
to  hang  on  their  backs  ;  my  father  should  have  new 
Greek  lace-bands,  instead  of  wearing  them  darned 
and  darned  till  there  was  little  of  the  lace  to  be 
seen  ;  Jane  should  have  a  handsomer  family  of  dolls 
than  she  had  ever  boasted,  and  Jack  look  a  royal  boy 
in  little  coats  of  brocade  for  Sundays  and  high 
holydays. 

But  'twas  not  for  these  things  and  his  riches  that 
I  promised  to  be  the  wife  of  Gabriel  Young.  Had 
his  fortune  been  ten  times  greater,  he  could  not  have 
won  me  without  first  gaining  my  love  and  trust. 
And,  having  done  that,  'twould  have  been  little  odds 
to  me  if  he  had  been  poor  or  as  old  as  Methuselah, 
as  Anne  Harrison  said  he  was,  in  her  jesting,  lively 
way. 

When  she  heard  of  my  betrothal,  Anne  came  to 
wish  me  joy,  bringing  with  her  a  gift  from  her  father 
and  herself.  'Twas  a  wondrous  fair  knob  of  gold 
enamelled  with  tulips,  set  in  a  crust  of  small  dia- 
monds. The  dear  child  hugged  me,  and  said : 

'  I  have  played  the  matchmaker  all  unawares, 
Lovejoy.  I  spoke  lightly  that  morning  in  the 
church,  and  little  dreamed  it  would  come  true.  If 
my  cousin  Young  does  not  prove  a  good  husband 
and  make  you  happy,  I  shall  be  ready  to  die  of 
remorse.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  15 

She  assumed  so  anxious  a  mien  that  I  made  haste 
to  assure  her  she  need  have  no  fear,  for  I  was  happy 
enough,  and  looked  forward  to  greater  happiness  still 
in  being  the  wife  of  her  cousin  Young. 

Then  we  mounted  together  to  the  top  of  the  house 
and  stood  on  our  wooden  balcony,  for  this  was  the 
I2th  of  May,  the  day  of  tragedy  when  Lord  Strafford 
stepped  from  his  prison  in  the  Tower  to  lay  his  grave 
and  noble  head  upon  the  block  in  the  presence  of 
vast  multitudes  of  people.  Rumours  of  a  plot  on 
foot  the  evening  before  to  compass  his  escape  had 
hurried  on  the  fatal  moment.  During  my  quiet 
courtship  much  had  I  heard  of  the  impassioned 
scenes  of  his  trial  from  one  who  was  a  daily  witness 
of  them  in  Westminster  Hall.  He  had  told  us  of 
the  long  pleadings  of  the  King's  proud  counsellor,  of 
his  appeal  to  his  judges  on  behalf  of  his  young  and 
innocent  children,  and  how  at  this  point  the  voice  of 
the  great  statesman  (said  to  have  a  heart  as  hard  as 
a  flint  by  his  enemies)  was  so  choked  with  sobs  he 
could  scarce  proceed. 

That  day  my  father,  for  once,  would  have  no  sound 
of  music  in  our  dwelling,  and  even  Jane  and  Jack 
forbore  to  shout  and  laugh  at  their  games,  being 
sensible,  young  though  they  were,  of  that  awful  thing 
that  had  happened  so  near  us  out  yonder  on  Tower 
Hill.  We  watched  silently  and  sadly  the  great 


1 6  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

crowds  disperse,  blackening  the  streets  and  lanes  of 
the  city  in  all  directions.  Men  came  by  way  of 
Crutched  Friars  even  into  our  quiet  street,  hustling 
each  other  and  whooping  madly  for  joy,  '  His  head 
is  off!  His  head  is  off!'  Little  Jane  looked  up 
inquiringly. 

'  Why  are  they  glad  ?'  she  asked.  '  They  should 
be  sorry,  not  glad,  forsooth,  that  the  Lord  Strafford's 
head  hath  been  cut  off.' 

'  Ay,  they  should  be  sorry,  not  glad,'  said  Anne, 
with  a  flash  of  anger  in  her  eyes.  'Had  he  been  the 
worst  of  men,  and  working  the  ruin  of  the  kingdom, 
as  hath  been  said  most  falsely,  they  should  not  be 
glad.' 

But  they  were  glad,  for  bells  pealed  forth  from 
towers  and  steeples,  and  at  night  the  bonfires  blazed 
skywards  along  Cheapside  and  Fleet  Street,  as  if  it 
were  a  merry  festival. 

In  the  country  it  may  be  possible,  I  have  heard, 
to  live  one's  daily  round  too  occupied  with  the  tasks 
of  the  hour  to  be  interested  in  or  even  heed  great 
public  events.  'Tis  different  in  London,  as  I,  a 
Londoner  born  and  bred,  can  testify.  London  is 
the  heart  of  things,  and  those  who  dwell  therein 
cannot  help  being  strangely  swayed  by  its  throbs 
and  thrills  of  emotion. 

Methinks,  if  ever  there  is  a  time  when  a  woman 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  17 

can  be  pardoned  for  being  engrossed  with  herself,  to 
the  exclusion  of  ought  besides,  'tis  on  her  bridal  day, 
for  then  she  seems  to  herself  and  all  her  loved  ones  a 
heroine — for  one  day  at  least.  Yet  on  the  cold  gray 
morning  in  January  that  saw  me  wed,  when  I  was 
driving  away  with  my  bridegroom  from  my  home  in 
Hart  Street,  I  soon  had  occasion  almost  to  forget  I 
was  a  bride,  and  the  little  drama  I  had  figured  in,  in 
coming  sudden  on  something  of  that  greater  drama 
which  the  King  was  playing  with  his  Parliament. 

Our  coach  had  to  hold  up  in  the  street  in  a  string 
of  others,  whilst  the  King  came  forth  from  the 
Guildhall  to  get  into  his.  His  Majesty's  errand 
there  had  been  fruitless,  for  he  had  come  to  seek  his 
flown  birds — those  five  Parliament  gentlemen  who 
ten  days  before  had  left  the  House  of  Commons 
when  the  King  had  gone  thither  to  arrest  them,  and, 
escaping  through  the  Speaker's  garden,  had  taken 
boat  for  the  city,  where  they  now  lay  hid  in 
Coleman  Street.  My  husband,  alighting  to  salute 
respectfully  the  King  when  he  should  pass,  fell  into 
converse  with  an  Alderman  of  his  acquaintance,  who 
did  say  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Councillors  had  been  so 
uncivil  as  to  refuse  to  snare  for  the  King  his  flown 
birds,  and  that  His  Majesty  was  in  high  choler 
thereat. 

2 


1 8  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Just  then  shouts,  some  loyal,  but  more  angry  and 
mocking,  from  the  citizens  thronging  the  street, 
made  me  forgetful  of  my  cloth  of  silver  gown,  and 
the  tell-tale  rice  that  Penelope  and  the  cook-boy 
had  hurled  at  me  rattling  in  its  folds,  and  I  sprang 
on  to  the  step  of  the  coach  to  see  the  King. 

No  guards  accompanied  him,  and  he  was  almost 
unattended.  His  brows  were  drawn  into  a  deep 
frown,  and  he  walked  with  such  little  irritable  steps 
that  he  seemed  near  to  run  into  his  coach.  'Twas 
in  the  lofty  posture  of  his  head  alone  that  his  kingly 
dignity  was  perceptible.  As  he  drove  away,  some  of 
the  crowd  ran  after  his  coach,  yelling,  '  Privilege ! 
privilege  of  Parliament !'  and  one,  ruder  and  bolder 
than  the  rest,  dared  to  toss  a  paper  in  at  the  window, 
with  the  cry,  '  To  your  tents,  O  Israel !' 

I  recalled  the  picture  I  had  seen  on  the  mild  day 
in  November  but  two  months  agone  when  King 
Charles  had  come  with  his  Queen  to  be  feasted  in 
the  City  after  his  return  from  making  peace  with 
the  Scots.  Flags  and  bunting  had  waved  merrily 
against  the  soft  gray  clouds ;  the  merchants  had 
hung  their  richest  tapestries  and  embroidered  stuffs 
over  the  balconies,  and  every  casement  was  decked 
with  garlands  and  smiling  faces.  I  had  been  with 
old  Penelope  a-marketing  in  Leadenhall,  and  to 
purchase  ribands  for  Jack's  garter-knots  at  a  draper's 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  ig 

in  Cheap,  and  from  the  doorway  of  his  shop  'twas 
our  good  fortune  to  see  the  procession  go  slowly  by. 
There  were  the  Aldermen  in  their  scarlet  bravery, 
gentlemen  on  horseback,  clad  in  velvet  coats,  with 
chains  of  gold,  and  in  the  midst  their  Majesties, 
who  rid  in  an  open  equipage.  The  King  had  not 
frowned  then,  and  the  gay  Queen,  in  a  furred  gown 
of  blue  and  white,  with  pearls  shimmering  among 
her  brown  curls,  had  seemed  to  be  laughing  at  two 
of  the  Royal  children  seated  opposite — the  Princess 
of  Orange,  small,  grave  bride  of  tender  years,  full  of 
childish  dignity,  with  her  hands  folded  stiffly  on  her 
lap ;  and  the  little  Princess  Elizabeth,  pale,  and 
clear-cut  in  features  as  an  ivory  image,  fragile  and 
drooping  like  a  snowdrop,  yet  most  lovely  and 
gracious  withal. 

Only  shouts  of  '  God  save  the  King  !'  had  rent 
the  air  that  day,  and  the  lowering,  resentful  faces 
that  lined  the  streets  now  had  been  absent. 

f  Where  are  they  hiding  to-day,  all  the  loyal  folk  ?' 
I  asked  Sir  Oracle,  as  our  coach  at  last  moved 
forward  ;  '  and  whence  have  all  these  disloyal  ones 
come  from  ?' 

'  They  are  the  same  folk,  sweetheart,'  said  he, 
*  and  'tis  the  same  city  of  London.  But  the  march 
of  events  hath  changed  the  aspect  of  it.  There  is 
time  in  two  months  for  the  loyal  to  grow  disloyal.' 

2 — 2 


20  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  And  so  there  is  hope  that  the  march  of  events 
may  make  the  disloyal  loyal  again  very  soon  ?'  I  asked. 

My  Sir  Oracle  looked  grave  as  he  answered  : 

'  Nay,  that  will  be  a  slower  process,  methinks, 
and  God  alone  knows  what  may  happen  ere  the 
pendulum  swings  back.'  Then  suddenly  he  smiled, 
and  exclaimed,  '  See,  little  wife,  this  is  Chancery 
Lane,  and  we  are  at  home.' 

The  next  moment  he  had  helped  me  to  alight,  and 
the  steward  and  servants  came  forth  to  bid  us 
welcome.  As  I  passed  beneath  the  portico  of  gray 
stone  into  the  panelled  hall,  and  my  husband's 
forefathers  and  their  ladies  looked  askance  at  me 
over  their  steel  cuirasses  and  starched  ruffs,  I 
realized  I  was  come  to  be  mistress  over  near  as  big  a 
house  and  as  many  domestics  as  Anne  Harrison,  and 
felt  not  a  little  mindful  of  my  responsibilities. 

I  had  seen  the  house  before,  but  my  husband  would 
fain  have  me  go  with  him  now  unto  all  the  rooms 
again  to  show  me  with  a  boylike  pleasure  how  the 
chambers  had  been  dressed  up  for  me  afresh  with 
fair  hangings,  mirrors,  and  tapestries.  In  the  velvet- 
room  I  must  see  the  secret  iron  closet  'twixt  the  bed- 
stead and  the  stairway ;  in  the  orange  chamber  the 
great  chest  that  came  from  Nuremburg  with  figures 
in  relief,  said  to  have  been  carved  by  the  hand  of 
Peter  Vischer ;  here  a  cabinet  of  gems,  there  rare 


THE  GKAV  HOUSE. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  21 

gravings  of  the  '  Dance  of  Death  ' — these  and  a  host 
of  other  pieces  that  my  husband  has  brought  from 
his  travels  in  outlandish  towns  when  he  was  bound 
on  foreign  embassies.  Longest  did  he  linger  show- 
ing me  his  books,  which  he  doth  esteem  his  greatest 
treasures  ;  and,  lastly,  he  brought  me  here  to  my 
own  closet,  with  its  carnation  hangings  of  quilted 
silk  and  little  China  carpets  wrought  with  coloured 
silks  and  gold  thread,  where  I  was  glad  to  rest,  for  I 
was  weary  from  going  up  and  down  passages  and 
stairways.  The  women  had  unpacked  my  trunks 
and  put  out  a  loose  smock  for  me  to  take  my  ease 
in,  and  I  sat  beside  the  hearth  and  held  my  hands 
before  the  flames. 

'Tis  almost  unnatural  not  to  be  interrupted  long 
ere  this  by  Penelope  coming  in  to  announce  some 
catastrophe  in  the  kitchen,  or  to  say  that  Master 
Jack  is  whipping  his  top  with  boys  in  the  street,  and 
will  I  whip  him,  and  Jane  hath  torn  her  clothes 
again.  I  miss  the  little  ones  as  sore  still  as  the  first 
night  I  left  them  ;  I  miss  the  childish  prayers  they 
said  at  my  knee,  their  hugs  as  I  tucked  them  in 
their  beds,  the  sound  of  their  fresh  young  voices  and 
sturdy  footsteps.  This  house  seems  strangely  silent. 
My  husband  has  gone  abroad  to  his  bookseller's,  and 
I  hear  no  sound  of  the  servants,  whose  quarters  are 
on  the  other  side  of  the  courtyard. 


22  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

But  there  will  soon  be  young  life  here  too,  for  in 
a  few  days,  should  wind  and  weather  favour  their 
journey,  my  stepdaughters,  Laurel  and  Silence,  are 
coming  out  of  France  by  way  of  Dieppe  with  their 
gentlewoman  and  their  foster-brother  Hugh  L' Es- 
trange. 

That  I  may  win  their  love  and  esteem  and  be  unto 
them  a  good  and  discreet  stepmother  is  my  most 
earnest  prayer. 

Yet  when  I  think  of  Silence  and  Gabriel's  words 
concerning  her — '  hers  is  a  stormy  spirit ;  some  say 
when  roused  'tis  like  an  evil  demon ' — I  can  but 
feel  some  fears. 


II 

January  1 1,  1642. 

THIS  fine  frosty  morning  I  bore  my  husband  com- 
pany to  Temple  Stairs,  whence  he  took  barge  for 
Greenwich  on  his  way  to  Deal  to  meet  his  children, 
who  are  to  land  by  the  packet-boat. 

'Twas  only  parting  for  a  short  time,  but  he  took, 
nevertheless,  most  tender  leave  of  me,  entrusting  me 
to  the  care  of  Juan,  his  Spanish  foot-boy,  who 
attended  us  to  the  waterside.  I  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  waving  my  hand  as  the  barge  drifted 
off  over  the  glittering  water.  The  sun  did  shine  as 
brightly  as  on  a  June  day,  and  I  never  remembered 
to  have  seen  so  many  barges,  wherries,  and  sailing- 
boats  abroad  on  the  river.  'Twas  rumoured  this  was 
to  be  a  gala-day  for  the  enemies  of  the  King. 

Unconsciously,  'tis  true,  it  seems  my  lot  to  keep 
pace  with  what  Sir  Oracle  calls  the  march  of  events. 
I  was  alive  to  the  thrill  of  excitement  in  the  air,  and, 
as  on  my  wedding-day,  near  to  forgetting  myself  in 

[23] 


24  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

what  was  passing  around  me,  for  ere  I  had  turned 
from  the  stairs  the  sound  of  drums  and  trumpets  fell 
on  my  ear,  and  Juan  said  we  had  better  tarry  till  the 
train-bands  had  gone  by.  They  came  in  martial 
array  rowing  up  the  river,  and  acting  as  guards 
to  the  five  gentlemen  of  the  Parliament  who,  till 
to-day,  had  been  in  hiding  in  the  City.  These 
gentlemen  were  now  venturing  forth  very  boldly  to 
Westminster,  the  King  being  gone  from  Whitehall 
to  Hampton  Court.  '  The  cat's  away,  so  the  mice 
will  play,'  I  heard  someone  say.  And  then,  as  the 
long  boats  glided  by  in  which  were  the  five  members 
and  the  Sheriffs  of  London,  a  great  huzzah  went 
up  from  the  bystanders  for  *  King  Pym '  and 
Mr.  Hampden.  Mr.  Pym's  broad,  fresh  face  wore  a 
smile  of  triumph,  but  Mr.  Hampden's,  methought, 
was  pale  and  sternly  set  I  liked  his  looks  the 
better  of  the  two. 

Afterwards,  leaving  the  waterside,  with  Juan 
following  close  at  my  heels,  I  came  to  cross  the 
crowded  Strand,  and  there  some  lads  ran  against 
me,  and  I  chanced  to  encounter  my  schoolboy 
brother  Timothy. 

'Tim!'  I  exclaimed,  'Tim!  have  I  caught  you 
playing  the  truant  ?' 

'  Why,  sister  Lovejoy,'  he  said,  '  I  vow  I  scarce 
knew  you  in  that  red  finery.  You  are  quite  the 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  25 

brave  lady,  methinks,  and  may  not  go  a-marketing 
now  unattended.' 

He  cast  a  quizzing  glance  at  the  Spanish  foot- 
boy. 

*  'Tis  all  very  well,  Tim,'  I  said,  *  but  I  asked  you 
a  question.  Are  you  playing  the  truant  ?' 

I  would  fain  have  looked  severely  on  him,  but 
could  not  for  the  life  of  me,  so  greatly  joyed  was  I  at 
the  unexpected  sight  of  a  home  face. 

'  The  'prentice  boys  have  been  given  leave  to 
make  holiday  to-day,  and  so  some  of  us  Paul's  boys 
have  taken  it.' 

'  But  Will  is  not  one  of  them,  I'll  warrant.' 

'  Will  is  a  bookworm,  and  heeds  naught  but  what's 
in  his  books,  and  there's  a  world  of  things  going  on 
outside  them.  I  rowed  in  a  skiff  with  the  train-bands 
from  Tower  Wharf  to  Temple  Stairs,  and  would  fain 
have  gone  all  the  way  to  Westminster,  only  I  durst 
not  come  late  to  dinner.  There's  herb-pie  for 
dinner  to-day.  I  heard  Peg  order  it.'  Tim  drew 
a  sigh,  as  if  his  soul  had  been  much  torn  asunder 
'twixt  his  love  of  liberty  and  liking  for  herb-pie. 
'  Ay,'  he  went  on,  '  wouldn't  I  join  the  train-bands, 
and  help  to  fight  King  Pym's  battles,  if  I  were  but 
as  old  as  our  brother  Roger !' 

'You. are  a  disloyal  little  scapegrace,'  said  I,  'to 
talk  thus.  Methinks  'twould  please  father  better  if 


26  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

you  minded  your  books,  like  Will,  instead  of  scour- 
ing the  town  in  the  wake  of  the  train-bands.' 

Then  I  asked  Tim  how  my  father  did  and  all  at 
home,  and  he  said  'twould  take  them  pleasantly  by 
surprise  if  I  came  to  dinner,  and  saw  for  myself  how 
they  did. 

'  Prithee  come,'  he  urged,  '  and  see  how  Peg  apes 
the  mistress  by  being  horrid  strict.' 

He  put  his  hand  in  my  arm,  and  pulled  me  along ; 
so  I,  yearning  to  see  home  again  as  greatly  as  if 
I  had  been  away  from  it  years  instead  of  days, 
bade  Juan  take  word  to  Chancery  Lane  that  I  had 
gone  to  dine  at  my  father's. 

'  I'll  be  your  gallant  escort,'  said  Tim. 

But  the  next  moment  he  left  my  side  to  slide  on 
one  of  the  frozen  rivulets.  When  he  came  back  he 
shook  the  pocket  I  wore  hanging  on  my  wrist,  and 
asked  if  the  knotted  silk  purse  Prue  had  made  me 
was  therein,  and  if  it  were  full  of  crowns.  He  was 
in  sore  need  of  a  certain  new  marble,  he  said,  and 
had  not  been  treated  to  the  bear-pit  or  a  puppet 
show  for  many  a  long  day. 

I  could  not  buy  Tim  marbles,  for  not  a  shop  or 
booth  in  the  City  was  open.  The  Cross  in  Cheap 
was  decked  in  holiday  greenery,  and  streamers  and 
garlands  floated  over  the  signs  in  Lombard  Street. 
The  'prentices  who  had  not  gone  to  Westminster 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  27 

were  playing  and  scuffling  in  the  gutter,  or  gathered 
in  the  side-streets  and  courts  to  watch  performances 
of  jugglers  and  tight-rope  dancers,  of  whom  there 
seemed  plenty  about,  making  hay  while  the  sun 
shone.  All  the  short-cuts  Tim  took  were  so  familiar 
to  me  I  could  have  found  my  way  through  them 
blindfolded.  Yet  familiar  places  appeared  to  me  to 
wear  a  strange  face  to-day.  Did  I  see  them  with 
different  eyes  because  I  was  now  no  longer  Lovejoy 
Howard  hurrying  home  to  take  my  place  at  the  head 
of  the  dinner-table  and  to  help  the  herb-pie,  but 
Mrs.  Lovejoy  Young,  coming  as  a  guest  to  her 
father's  house  to  see  Peg  in  her  old  place  '  aping  the 
mistress  by  being  horrid  strict,'  as  Tim  wickedly 
put  it  ? 

When  we  came  beneath  the  crooked  gables  of 
Hart  Street,  the  bells  of  St.  Olave's  sent  forth  a 
merry  peal.  Twas  as  if  the  bell-ringing  and  flying 
of  flags  were  meant  to  welcome  me,  though  I  hated 
the  thought  of  sharing  in  any  way  the  triumph  of 
the  five  Members  who  had  that  day  so  victoriously 
gained  their  point  against  the  King. 

Methought  the  narrow  house  had  grown  narrower 
as  I  entered  it,  and  that  there  was  scarce  any  room 
to  turn  round  in  the  hall ;  but  there  was  room, 
nevertheless,  for  the  whole  household  to  flock  there 
to  receive  me  boisterously,  for  Tim  had  run  ahead 


28  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

and  announced  my  arrival  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  so 
that  all  Crutched  Friars  must  have  known  I  had 
come. 

Jack  and  Jane  embraced  my  skirts,  wild  with  joy 
at  seeing  me,  and  my  father  led  me  to  the  table,  and 
I  sat  on  his  right  hand  in  the  chair  of  state,  which 
Mr.  Milton  and  Dr.  Child,  and  divers  other  honoured 
musical  guests,  had  occupied  when  they  supped  with 
us  in  Hart  Street. 

'  Peg  does  very  well,'  my  father  said.  He  nodded 
encouragingly  towards  the  other  end  of  the  table, 
where  Peg  sat  flushing  and  frowning  for  fear  her 
dishes  should  not  hold  out. 

'  Considering  what  a  giddy  pate  she  was  wont  to 
be,'  murmured  Will  the  bookworm. 

'  Peg  hath  whipped  me  once,'  said  Jack,  '  because 
I  failed  down  and  did  bleed  here.'  He  pointed  to  a 
triangle  of  plaster  that  adorned  his  forehead. 

'  Nay,  'twas  not  for  that  he  got  a  whipping,'  put 
in  Jane,  '  but  because  he  was  naughty,  and  would 
run  off  and  play  with  rude  boys  outside  Mistress 
Travers'  house.' 

'  Thereby  hangs  a  tale,'  said  Prue.  '  'Tis  Baby 
Jack  that  hath  betrayed  the  citadel.' 

'  Eh,  Prue  !  to  whom  and  what  citadel  ?'  asked  my 
father;  but  not  till  he  had  hurried  away  to  the 
church,  where  a  pupil  for  the  organ  awaited  him, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  29 

did  Prue  explain  that  Jack  had  been  brought  home 
bleeding  by  the  widow,  who  had  tended  and  plastered 
his  cut  herself,  and  had  come  every  day  since  to  see 
how  the  '  sweet  cherub  '  was,  and  to  doctor  him 
with  liquorice-water  and  other  concoctions  of  her 
own  making. 

'  In  truth,'  said  Prue,  '  she  is  now  a  tame  cat  in 
the  house.' 

'  But  'tis  not  my  fault,  Lovejoy,'  Peg  did  protest, 
hot  and  ashamed  that  I  should  learn  the  widow  had 
gained  so  much  ground  under  her  regime.  '  Yester 
evening  I  would  not  ask  her  to  supper  though  she 
tarried  on  after  Jack  was  abed.' 

*  Ay,  she  tarried  on,'  said  Prue,  '  even  though  I 
drummed  on  at  "  The  Carman's  Whistle "  till  I 
thought  I  should  split  her  ears  as  well  as  the  strings 
of  the  harpsichon  ;  but  she  smiled  through  it  and 
marked  time  with  her  foot  withal,  though  I  kept  no 
time  on  purpose.' 

'  She  hath  told  father  Jane  should  not  learn  to  play 
on  the  lute  because  it  doth  draw  her  figure  awry,' 
said  Peg,  '  but  I  hope  he  will  not  heed  her.  Why 
should  madam  interfere  in  Jane's  education  ?' 

'  Why,  indeed,'  echoed  Prue ;  and  both  looked  at 
me  to  abet  them,  as  I  had  been  wont  to  do  when  I 
shared  in  their  secretly  cherished  distaste  and  dread 
of  a  possible  stepmother. 


30  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

But  now  I  am  a  stepmother  myself,  though  I  scarce 
yet  realize  the  position ;  it  somewhat  alters  my  feel- 
ings, and  I  wonder  whether  the  home-coming  Laurel 
and  Silence  are  thinking  of  me  with  a  horror  like 
to  Peg  and  Prue's  for  Mistress  Travers.  I  was  at 
Hart  Street  till  after  sunset,  and  then  returned  to 
Chancery  Lane  in  a  hackney  coach  that  Will  fetched, 
since  the  citizens'  enthusiasm  waxing  merrier  towards 
the  evening  over  their  five  heroes  made  it  unsafe  to 
go  on  foot. 

The  gable  points  and  steeples  of  the  City  stood  out 
black  against  a  sky  of  clear  orange,  in  which  flashed  the 
planet  Mars.  Here  and  there  the  unshuttered  case- 
ments cast  ribands  of  light  across  the  street,  but  the 
Lord  DingwalFs  great  house  had  darkened  windows 
and  a  deserted  aspect,  Sir  John  Harrison  and  his 
daughter  having  taken  up  quarters  for  the  winter 
this  year  at  Montague  House  in  Bishopsgate,  near  to 
the  great  fantastic  carved  mansion  of  that  princely 
merchant,  Sir  Paul  Pindar,  a  revered  friend  of  my 
husband's.  'Tis  said  Sir  Paul  hath  lent  the  King 
vast  sums  of  money  only  recently,  and  presented  the 
Queen  with  priceless  jewels,  there  being  no  limit  to 
his  riches,  as  there  is  none  to  his  loyalty. 

The  air  struck  piercing  cold  as  I  stepped  from  the 
hackney-coach,  and  it  pleased  me  that  it  was  in  my 
power  to  give  alms  freely  to  some  half-naked  beggars 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  31 

who  crouched  shivering  beneath  the  lanthorns  at  the 
gateway.  'Tis  a  joy  and  a  novelty  to  me  to  have 
money  to  give  away.  Hitherto  money,  owing  to  my 
dear  father's  scarcity  thereof,  hath  ever  been  associated 
in  my  mind  with  saving  rather  than  with  giving. 

The  rooms  were  all  aglow  with  great  wood  fires. 
Juan  ran  before  me  with  a  lighted  torch  up  the 
shining  oak  staircase,  for  I  would  fain  look  once 
more  into  the  chambers  prepared  for  the  travellers. 
My  own  hands  had  helped  to  deck  them,  and  Laurel 
and  Silence  will  have  a  bower  fit  for  a  queen. 

The  finest  wrought  linen  sheets,  sweet  with  the 
perfume  of  orris  that  I  found  in  a  press  in  the  attic, 
lie  on  the  two  beds  and  the  softest  down  pillows. 
The  blue  and  silver  bed-curtains  draw  close  round 
the  testers,  keeping  out  draughts ;  and  the  hangings 
on  the  walls  are  of  tapestry,  all  in  blue  and  white, 
telling  the  story  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda.  Then 
the  window  seats  are  softly  cushioned  with  blue 
damask,  and  in  each  recess  there  is  a  small  shelf  for 
books.  A  closet  at  one  end  hath  ewers  of  blue  china 
and  a  mirror  in  it,  and  at  the  other,  down  two  steps 
is  a  roomy  frippery  for  hanging  clothes. 

Not  all  the  bed-chambers  in  Hart  Street  put 
together  would  make  this  one,  and  methinks  Peg 
and  Prue  would  gasp  with  amazement  at  it. 

The  boy  Hugh  PEstrange  will  occupy  one  of  our 


32  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

guest-chambers  till  he  goes  to  be  apprenticed  to  a 
famous  dialler  and  horologist  in  Goldsmith's  Row, 
for  such  Gabriel  saith  is  his  bent. 

January  13. 

I  writ  on  so  late  the  night  before  last  that  the 
midnight  hour  boomed  from  the  steeples  ere  I  laid 
down  my  quill.  A  day-book,  methinks,  is  the  thief 
of  beauty  sleep. 

Yesterday  Anne  Harrison  came,  her  brother 
William  leaving  her  with  me  whilst  he  went  on  to 
the  Commons'  House,  in  which  he  has  a  seat.  I 
brought  her  to  see  the  carnation  closet,  and  looking 
about,  she  was  not  slow  to  spy  out  my  day-book. 

'  I  declare,'  she  said,  '  I,  too,  will  keep  a  journal 
such  as  this.  But  my  penmanship  is  vastly  inferior 
to  yours,  which  comes  near  to  rivalling  my  father's, 
and  that  is  the  prettiest  that  ever  I  saw.' 

'  Nay  ;  here  'tis  but  scribbling,  not  penmanship,"  I 
answered.  '  These  pages  are  meant  only  for  my  own 
eyes,  and  maybe  for  Gabriel's,  should  he  care  to  read 
what  I've  writ.' 

'  Your  children  and  children's  children  will  devour 
it,'  said  Anne,  '  and  find  it  of  greater  interest  than 
any  romance  they  ever  read.  Well,  methinks  I  will 
defer  beginning  my  journal  till  such  time  as  I  am 
wed,  for  then  my  adventures  are  to  begin ;  at  least, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  33 

so  saith  the  prophetess,  Lady  Eleanor  Davies ;  you 
know,  though  she  be  held  for  mad,  and  has  suffered 
imprisonment,  she  long  ago  foretold  truly  these 
troubles  that  are  now  besetting  the  King.' 

'  And  has  Lady  Eleanor  foretold  with  whom  you 
are  to  wed  ?'  I  asked. 

Anne  laughed  and  shook  her  sunny  curls. 

*  So  much  hath  not  been  revealed,'  said  she.  '  He 
is  still  hid  far  off  among  the  shadows  of  the  future. 
When  he  does  come  forth  into  the  light,  be  sure  he'll 
prove  some  Apollo  or  fairy  Prince.' 

Then  she  jumped  down  from  the  high  window-seat 
where  she  had  perched  herself,  and  said  her  god- 
mother, Lady  Wolstenholm,  and  other  company 
were  expected  to  sup  with  them  that  day,  and  she 
must  hurry  home  to  prepare  for  their  entertainment. 

She  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck  on  taking 
leave,  and,  kissing  me  many  times,  vowed  I  was  her 
dearest  friend,  doubly  dear,  if  possible,  now  I  was 
wife  of  her  cousin  Young.  But  she  added,  pouting : 

'  Tis  a  pity  there  are  so  many  years  betwixt  you 
and  him.  He  was  no  youth  when  he  married  first, 
now  he  must  be  past  fifty.  'Tis  a  pity.' 

1  No,  'tis  not  a  pity,'  I  said  with  some  heat.  '  I 
think  naught  of  the  difference  in  years.  Gabriel  is 
not  a  day  too  old  for  my  liking.  His  age  seems  for 
me  proper  and  fitting.' 

3 


34  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  Fitting  !  You  say  that  because  you  have  been  ever 
forced  to  wear  an  old  head  on  your  young  shoulders, 
and  never  been  free  from  cares.  I  have  admired  you 
always  for  being  so  placid  and  calm  through  it  all, 
but  I  fain  would  have  seen  my  beautiful  Lovejoy 
merry  and  jocund  and  free  from  care,  as  people  of 
her  age  should  be,  for  one  sweet  period  of  her  life  ; 
but  no  sooner  have  brothers  and  sisters  cease  to  hang 
to  her  skirts  than  she  is  to  be  plagued  out  of  her  wits 
by  stepchildren.' 

'  Play  not  the  part  of  Cassandra  like  the  Lady 
Eleanor  Davies,'  I  said. 

For  answer  Anne's  laughter  rippled  forth  merrily. 

By  this  time  I  stood  on  the  doorstep,  and  she  in 
the  open  air.  It  had  begun  to  snow,  and  the  light 
feathery  flakes  fell  on  her  little  fur  cap  and  bright 
hair.  Certain  it  is  there  was  nothing  Cassandra-like 
about  the  face  Anne  turned  back  over  her  shoulder 
at  me  as  she  ran  to  join  her  waiting-woman  and 
brother's  man  at  the  gate-house.  The  blue  eyes 
were  full  of  sparkle,  the  red  lips  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

Sir  John  Harrison  may  well  call  Anne  his  sunbeam. 
She  is  all  gaiety,  brightness,  and  quickness,  lithe  and 
supple  in  her  motions  as  a  young  kitten.  Methinks 
she  should  have  been  christened  by  my  name; 
'twould  suit  her  better  than  her  own.  Tis  impossible 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  35 

not  to  love  joyous  Anne  Harrison,  and  to  be  glad  to 
be  beloved  by  her. 

January  14. 

I  have  no  difficulty  in  realizing  that  I  am  a  step- 
mother now,  and  methinks  I  never  shall  again  forget 
it.  They  are  here,  my  step-children,  Laurel  and 
Silence.  Their  arrival  was  preceded  by  a  great  cart- 
load of  their  baggage,  and  there  is  yet  more  to  come. 
They  were  so  attached  to  their  home  in  Blois  that  it 
would  seem  they  have  tried  to  bring  as  much  of  their 
surroundings  as  possible  with  them.  Their  French 
cook  and  a  serving-woman  in  peasant's  cap  and 
wooden  shoes,  have  come  with  them,  not  to  speak 
of  two  dogs,  a  tame  squirrel,  and  a  parrot,  and 
divers  fruit-trees  and  shrubs. 

Already  I  foresee  storms  ahead  'twixt  Alphonse  and 
Marie  and  our  English  servants. 

It  was  snowing  heavily  when  the  travellers  arrived 
at  Arundel  stairs,  and  when  Gabriel  brought  them 
into  the  hall  with  Hugh  TEstrange  and  their  gentle- 
woman, Miriam  Fisher,  I  could  scarce  discern  their 
faces,  for  they  were  so  bundled  up  in  furs  and  wraps. 

'  Doff  your  hood  and  cloak,  Laurel,'  Gabriel  said  ; 
'  this  is  your  mother,  whom  I  would  have  you  and 
Silence  obey  and  honour.' 

'  And  who  would  have  you  both  love  her,'  said  I, 
holding  out  my  arms. 

3—2 


36  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

But  my  invitation  to  embrace  them  was  not 
accepted  by  either.  Laurel,  when  she  had  tossed  off 
her  hood  and  shaken  herself  free  of  her  heavy  shawls 
and  cloak,  made  me  a  pretty  curtsey,  and  said :  '  I 
hope  you  are  well,  madame.'  She  hath  a  rare  grace 
and  a  rich  brown  beauty.  Not  only  her  eyes  and 
hair  are  brown  but  her  smooth  skin,  which  deepens 
to  a  clear  red  in  her  cheeks  and  lips. 

Silence  did  not  move,  but  stood  with  her  wide- 
open,  deep  gray  eyes  fixed  on  me,  half  questioningly, 
half  mistrustfully.  Silence  is  pale  with  a  strange 
transparent  pallor.  Her  mouth  looks  made  for 
laughter,  'tis  so  finely  curved  and  hath  dimples  at 
the  corners,  but  I  have  not  seen  her  smile  yet  except 
when  Hugh  put  the  tame  squirrel  on  her  shoulder. 

I  have  had  time  to  notice  that  Silence  follows 
Hugh  about  like  a  dog,  and  that  Laurel  casts  a 
lovingly  protecting  eye  on  both  of  them.  Poor 
Hugh  is  low  of  stature  for  his  years,  and  hath  a 
somewhat  misshapen  body,  but  his  head  is  finely 
formed  and  covered  with  crisp  curls  of  the  flaming  hue 
that  Venetian  ladies  dye  their  tresses,  Gabriel  says. 

The  three  were  refreshing  themselves  after  their 
journey  with  hot  spiced  sack  and  sweet  cakes  in  the 
library,  when  Hugh's  eyes,  wandering  to  the  window, 
fell  on  the  sundial  that  stands  in  the  pleasance. 
With  sudden  alertness  he  unfastened  the  window 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  37 

that  gives  on  an  outside  stair  of  stone  and  ran  out 
bareheaded,  and  began  to  brush  the  snow  away  to 
examine  the  carving  and  inscription  on  the  dial. 
Silence  would  have  run  after  him,  but  was  held  back 
by  the  gentlewoman.  She  struggled  violently,  and 
would  have  gotten  loose  had  not  Laurel  interposed 
and  made  her  understand  with  a  succession  of  quick 
and  eloquent  signs  that  she  was  too  thinly  clad  to 
plunge  out  in  the  snow. 

*  Come  back,  Hugh,'  Laurel  called  from  the 
balustrade ;  '  you  will  catch  a  rheum,  and  Silence 
wants  you.' 

He  obeyed  on  the  instant,  coming  and  sitting 
down  again  on  the  high-backed  chair  by  the  window. 
Silence  nestled  beside  him,  and  he  drew  from  his 
pouch  a  small  pocket  dial  and  seemed  to  explain  to 
her  by  signs  that  there  was  some  resemblance  'twixt 
it  and  the  dial  without  on  the  pleasance. 

'  Such  toys  are  her  delight,'  said  the  gentlewoman 
Miriam  Fisher ;  '  they  and  her  sampler  keep  her  quiet 
when  naught  else  will.  'Tis  a  mercy  her  restlessness 
is  stilled  sometimes,  or  she'd  wear  us  to  fiddle-strings.' 

'  'Tis  Hugh  keeps  her  quiet,  not  toys,  as  you  call 
'em,'  Laurel  said.  '  She  loves  to  be  in  his  company. 
If  my  father  sends  Hugh  away,  stepmother,  methinks 
Silence  will  fret — fret  herself  to  death.  She  was  nigh 
to  breaking  her  heart  when  Hugh  went  from  Blois 


38  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

to  study  at  Richelieu.  'Twas  useless  for  Monsieur 
Pierre  to  write  "  Console-toi  "  on  her  little  tablets ; 
she  would  not  be  consoled  till  Hugh  returned.' 

'  Who  is  Monsieur  Pierre  ?'  I  asked. 

Laurel  raised  her  eyebrows  as  if  astonished  that 
the  fame  of  Monsieur  Pierre  had  not  reached  my 
ears. 

'  Everyone  in  Blois  knows  Monsieur  Pierre,' 
answered  she.  '  The  great  master  jeweller  and 
clock-maker  whose  workshop  was  opposite  us.  Hugh 
and  Silence  have  spent  many  hours  chez  Monsieur 
Pierre,  watching  him  and  his  braves  gar$ons  ply 
their  tools.  'Twas  Monsieur  Pierre  who  told 
Monsieur  le  Cure"  that  Hugh  ought  not  to  waste 
time  in  learning  fine  gentlemanly  accomplishments 
at  the  Academy  Richelieu  when  he  was  clearly  born 
to  make  clocks  and  carve  dials.' 

Hugh's  reserve  had  not  broken  down  so  quickly 
as  Laurel's,  and  I  had  scarce  heard  him  speak  till 
now,  when  he  looked  up  and  said  with  a  smile : 

'  "  Methinks  it  were  a  happy  life 

To  carve  out  dials  quaintly  point  by  point." ' 

Gabriel  heard  him  as  he  drew  aside  the  arras  that 
divides  his  study  from  the  library  and  came  in. 

'  Pleased  am  I,  my  boy,  to  hear  you  quote  thus 
glibly  great  Master  Will  Shakespeare,'  my  husband 
said. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  39 

Hugh's  colour  rose,  and  Laurel  broke  forth  again  : 

'  He  knows  them  near  by  heart — Master  Shake- 
speare's history  plays — and  hath  read  them  to  me 
over  and  over  again,  as  he  hath  done  "  The  Faerie 
Queen  "  and  Petrarch's  "  Sonnets."  ' 

Laurel,  'tis  plain,  takes  no  small  pride  in  her  foster- 
brother. 

At  the  proposal  of  bed  Silence  engaged  in  another 
battle-royal  with  her  gentlewoman.  With  extra- 
ordinary swift  and  expressive  actions  she  would  show 
that  she  was  not  a-weary  or  ready  for  rest,  though 
her  drooping  lids  belied  her.  She  clung  to  Hugh, 
appealing  to  him  in  dumb-show  to  side  with  her 
against  Miriam.  Once  more  'twas  Laurel  who  inter- 
posed and  made  peace.  'Tis  wonderful  to  see  how 
she  calms  Silence  in  her  sudden  gusts  of  passion. 
In  a  few  minutes  Silence  went  to  bed  like  a  lamb. 
When  later  I  came  softly  on  tiptoe  into  their  bed- 
chamber to  see  if  they  slept,  I  found  them  yet  awake, 
with  a  light  still  burning,  and  both  their  faces  wet 
with'  tears. 

Laurel,  ashamed  that  I  should  see  she  had  been 
crying,  had  turned  her  head  away.  As  I  bent  over 
her  she  said,  feigning  to  be  cheerful : 

'  Bonne  nuit,  madame.' 

'  I  would  liefer  you  called  me  mother — not  that,' 
said  I. 


40  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  Mother !  Nay,  I  cannot.  You  are  not  my 
mother,'  she  answered.  '  My  mother  lies  far  away 
under  the  palm-trees  in  the  little  churchyard  on  the 
shores  of  the  blue  Mediterranean.  Father  took  us  from 
Blois  once  on  my  birthday  to  see  her  grave  at  Nice, 
and  the  white  house  where  she  died.  The  rose- 
bushes were  in  bloom,  though  'twas  winter,  and  the 
garden  fair  with  pansies  and  violets.  But  there's  no 
garden  I  like  so  well  as  ours  at  Blois.  Dear  Blois !  I 
love  it ;  but  most  of  all  at  grape-picking  time.  Shall 
we  ever  go  a  grape-picking  again,  I  wonder?'  she 
sighed,  and  continued  :  '  Coming  hither  to  England, 
as  we  passed  through  France,  we  saw  many  finer 
towns.  Tours,  par  exemple,  where  Hugh  bought  the 
silkworms,  and  Orleans,  where  he  showed  us  Jeanne 
d'Arc  standing  on  the  bridge,  carved  out  of  stone,  in 
armour  and  spurs  and  flowing  hair.  Shame  on  us 
English  for  suffering  the  brave  maid  to  be  burned  as 
a  witch  !  And  Paris,  of  course,  is  the  fairest  city  of 
all ;  but  Blois — Blois  is  dearest.  Nowhere  is  the  air 
so  pure  or  people  kinder-hearted.  Ay,  I  love  the 
steep  little  streets  of  Blois,  and  the  goldsmiths'  shops ; 
the  lime-trees  and  vineyards,  and  the  great  forest 
whence  the  wolves  come  down  at  times  into  the 
town  and  carry  off  the  children.' 

'  That  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale,'  said  I. 

'  But  'tis  true.     Has  not  father  told  you  ?     When 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  41 

Silence  was  a  little  girl  she  ran  out  alone  one  winter's 
day  at  dusk,  towards  the  forest,  and  when  she  turned 
to  come  back  a  wolf  was  pattering  behind  her  down 
the  street.  They  called  to  her  from  the  windows  to 
come  into  safety,  not  knowing  that  Silence  could  not 
hear.  She  walked  on  with  her  eyes  looking  straight 
before  her,  as  she  often  does,  into  space,  as  if  she 
were  walking  in  a  dream,  and  the  wolf  was  gaining 
on  her  every  second.  'Twas  Hugh  who  saved  her. 
He  was  at  Monsieur  Pierre's,  and  he  caught  up 
Monsieur  Pierre's  pair  of  loaded  pistols,  and,  leaping 
into  the  street,  he  snatched  up  Silence  with  one  hand, 
and  then  with  the  other  he  shot  the  wolf  dead.  Was 
not  that  a  brave  deed  ?  Hugh  is  not  strong  and  big, 
and  was  but  ten  then,  for  'tis  six  years  ago.  To  think 
my  father  has  not  told  you  Hugh  did  this  thing.' 

Laurel's  tears  had  dried  on  her  cheek,  and  her 
voice,  which,  even  in  speaking,  is  full  of  music, 
trembled  with  excitement. 

'  Your  father  has  had  so  much  to  tell  me  about  his 
two  daughters  that  he  has  scarce  had  time  to  speak 
of  Hugh,'  I  said  jestingly,  as  I  kissed  Laurel  and 
stepped  beside  the  other  bed.  Silence  was  lying 
quite  still,  her  great  eyes  gazing  wistfully,  but  unsee- 
ingly,  through  the  bed-curtains  at  the  wall  opposite, 
where  the  figure  of  Andromeda  on  her  rock  stood  out 
from  the  tapestry  in  the  dim  light. 


42  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  Truly,'  thought  I,  '  she  hath  the  face  of  an  angel.' 

But  when  I  stooped  to  kiss  it,  the  angel  face  was 
whisked  sharply  away  from  me  and  buried  in  the 
pillows. 

'  She  would  fain  have  Marie  to  tuck  her  in.  Silence 
will  never  sleep  without.  Prithee,  madame,  let  Marie 
come  to  her,'  pleaded  Laurel. 

They  had  come  home  and  were  in  their  father's 
house,  yet  they  were  homesick — homesick  for  Blois. 
Naught  would  content  them  but  to  have  old  Marie 
in  her  tall  white  cap,  because  she  was  to  them  a 
piece  of  their  life  at  Blois,  to  mutter  her  beads  beside 
their  beds ;  then  at  last  they  fell  asleep. 


Ill 

Candlemas,  1642. 

TO-DAY,  for  the  first  time  since  I  married,  there  have 
been  guests  at  my  husband's  table — men  of  learning 
and  wit,  in  whose  choice  conversation  he  much 
delighteth.  Among  the  company  were  Mr.  Hobbes, 
Mr.  John  Selden,  Mr.  Edmund  Waller,  and  our 
poet  neighbour,  Mr.  Cowley. 

What  with  preparing  for  their  entertainment  and 
settling  disputes  'twixt  Alphonse  and  our  English 
cook,  I  have  had  no  time  to  write  in  this  book. 
Then  masters  have  had  to  be  found  to  continue 
Silence's  lessons  in  penmanship  and  drawing,  and 
Laurel's  in  music  and  dancing.  Gabriel  hath 
entrusted  to  my  dear  father  the  training  of  Laurel's 
voice,  which  he  finds  of  wondrous  depth,  and  fresh 
and  pure  to  admiration.  She  sings,  methinks,  like 
the  lark  on  a  summer  morn  as  it  wheels  into  the 
blue  sky  out  of  simple  joyousness  of  heart ;  and  yet 
there  is  something  pathetical  in  it  withal,  that  can 
bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  her  listeners. 

[43] 


44  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Hugh  1' Estrange  did  not  tarry  long  under  our  roof. 
He  is  gone  to  diet  at  Master  Jaspar  Haynes's,  the 
dialler  and  mathematician,  who  hath  his  shop  on  the 
southern  side  of  Cheap,  and  enjoys  a  great  fame. 
Master  Haynes  hath  some  kinship  with  the  family 
of  Hugh's  mother.  'Twas  best,  Gabriel  said,  that 
Hugh  should  lose  no  time  in  going  to  take  up  the 
trade  (art  Hugh  doth  call  it)  of  his  choice.  The 
matter  had  been  settled  twixt  Gabriel  and  Master 
Haynes  before  Hugh  came  out  of  France. 

I  have  only  lately  learnt  how  'twas  Hugh  came  to 
be  bred  up  with  Laurel  and  Silence  as  their  brother. 
His  mother  and  theirs  were  playmates  as  children, 
and  a  very  loving  friendship  had  existed  betwixt  them 
as  maidens.  Hugh's  mother,  when  she  ran  away 
to  marry  a  handsome  Papist  with  a  foreign  name, 
at  about  the  same  time  as  her  friend  was  married  to 
Gabriel,  incurred  the  bitter  anger  of  her  bigoted 
Puritan  parents,  and  they  vowed  they  had  cast  her 
off  and  would  never  see  her  again. 

There  were  other  things  besides  a  difference  in  faith 
to  take  exception  to  in  Mr.  1'Estrange.  He  appears 
to  have  been  profligate  and  a  gamester,  and,  journey- 
ing with  his  young  wife  to  Italy,  he  soon  wearied  of 
her,  and  had  deserted  her  before  she  was  brought  to 
bed  with  Hugh  in  the  house  of  an  apothecary  in 
Genoa,  where,  by  God's  mercy,  Gabriel  and  his  first 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  45 

lady,  on  their  travels,  chanced  to  find  her  in  a  most 
rueful  plight.  She,  poor  thing !  ere  she  died  in 
childbirth,  did  most  earnestly  petition  the  sweet  friend 
of  her  girlhood  to  take  the  sickly  boy  and  nurture 
him  for  her  sake,  as  her  own  flesh  and  blood.  This 
was  done,  and  with  such  tenderness  that  when  her 
own  children  were  born  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  not 
more  love  to  lavish  on  them  than  she  had  for  the 
little  orphan  of  her  girl  friend.  Gabriel  writ  several 
times  to  the  parents  of  Mrs.  1'Estrange,  but  'twas 
always  the  same  answer  they  gave :  that,  inasmuch  as 
they  had  not  countenanced  their  daughter's  marriage, 
they  did  decline  to  countenance  the  fruit  thereof. 

So  Gabriel  has  stood  in  the  place  of  a  father  to 
Hugh,  having  borne  the  cost  of  his  education,  and 
now  that  of  his  apprenticeship  to  Master  Haynes. 

The  day  Gabriel  took  him  thither  Laurel  and  I 
bore  them  company ;  but  Silence  was  in  too  great  a 
passion  of  grief  to  come  forth  into  the  streets.  So 
we  left  her  behind.  I  have  no  mastery  as  yet  of  the 
signs  by  which  the  others  communicate  with  her, 
and  perforce  tried  to  comfort  her  by  writing  on  the 
little  tablets  she  wears  at  her  girdle  that  Hugh  was 
not  going  far  away,  and  would  spend  many  of  his 
Sundays  and  holidays  with  his  foster-sisters.  But 
my  efforts  were  as  vain  as  Monsieur  Pierre's 
'  Console-toi,'  had  proved  on  the  occasion  of  another 


46  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

parting.  Silence  tore  what  I  had  writ  from  her 
tablets,  crumpled  it  disdainfully  in  her  little  hand, 
and  tossed  it  on  the  logs.  Then  she  ran  wildly  to 
the  door  and  cast  herself  against  it  as  if  she  would  fain 
bar  it  with  her  person  against  Hugh's  exit.  With 
the  utmost  gentleness  he  removed  Silence  out  of  his 
way,  and  she  then  lay  face  downwards  on  the  floor, 
and  her  frame  was  shook  with  violent  sobs.  Hugh 
knelt  down,  kissed  the  back  of  her  neck,  that  showed 
beneath  her  hair,  and  taking  from  his  pouch  the 
small  portable  dial,  which  was  his  proudest  possession, 
laid  it  beside  her  on  the  floor. 

'  There  now,'  said  Mrs.  Miriam,  '  methinks  that  is 
too  precious  a  gift  for  one  to  give  who  is  not  going 
across  seas,  but  only  across  a  few  streets.' 

'  'Tis  best  to  leave  her  with  Marie  to  cry  herself 
out,'  said  Laurel;  and  she  and  I  followed  Hugh  to 
the  hall  where  Gabriel  awaited  us. 

Master  Haynes  hath  one  of  those  richly  carved 
and  gilded  house-fronts  like  the  goldsmiths',  which 
are  the  admiration  of  strangers,  though  dwellers  in 
London  town  heed  them  less,  being  so  accustomed 
to  the  sight  of  their  beauty. 

The  sign  over  his  door  is  a  dial  face,  painted  to 
the  shape  of  a  tortoise,  very  handsomely  and  in- 
geniously. 

The  house  hath  stood  there  so  long  as  the  cross 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  47 

itself,  erected  by  the  first  King  Edward  in  memory 
of  his  fair  and  sainted  Queen.  What  pomps  and 
processions,  what  tragedies  and  comedies,  have  been 
witnessed  from  the  lattices  of  Master  Haynes's  house 
'twould  be  writing  a  history-book  to  relate. 

'Tis  the  ancientest  haunts  methinks  that  never 
grow  familiar,  because  they  do  bring  the  far-off,  un- 
familiar past  before  our  eyes  so  vividly  that  for  the 
moment  'tis  the  present  which  becomes  pale  and 
shadowy.  Not  of  the  burning  discontents  and  dis- 
sensions of  the  hour  did  my  husband  converse  to 
Hugh  as  we  took  the  way  by  Fleet  Street  to  Ludgate 
and  Cheapside,  but  of  Dick  Whittington,  Jane  Shore, 
and  of  the  Saracen  Princess  who  came  over  sea  and 
land  in  search  of  her  lover,  Gilbert  Becket,  and  called 
his  name  through  the  streets  of  London,  that  being 
the  only  word  of  his  language  she  knew. 

Gabriel  is  a  great  lover  of  the  quaint  itinerary  of 
old  Mr.  Stow. 

We  were  received  by  Master  Haynes  in  the  front 
of  his  shop,  where  portable  dials  and  watches  of  all 
shapes  and  sizes  were  displayed.  They  were  of  silver, 
of  brass,  of  wrought  ivory  and  enamel.  Some  were 
made  to  stand,  others  to  lie  down  and  fold  up.  The 
workmanship  of  most  was  wondrous  fine,  and  Hugh 
so  ravished  thereat  he  scarce  seemed  to  attend  to 
what  Gabriel  said  as  he  presented  him  to  his  master. 


48  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

The  dialler  wore  a  wide  loose  gown  of  russet  cloth 
and  a  cap  of  red  velvet.  He  has  eyes  magnified  by 
big  spectacles,  piercing  and  keen  as  a  hawk's,  but 
the  rest  of  his  features  are  small  and  shrunken.  He 
wears  a  little  beard  on  his  under  lip,  and  his  scant 
hair  straggles  as  far  as  his  round  shoulders.  He  is 
a  widower,  and  hath  but  one  child  alive,  a  daughter, 
to  fall  in  love  with  whom,  saith  he,  the  pupils  and 
apprentices  regard  as  part  of  their  duties. 

'  But  they  cannot  all  have  her,'  he  said  with  a 
twinkle,  '  and  she  will  have  none  of  'em.' 

He  eyed  Hugh's  tawny  curls,  and  then  remarked 
that  he  was  no  strict  enforcer  of  the  sumptuary  laws 
for  'prentices.  If  he  were,  Hugh  would  have  to  be 
shorn  of  his  glory  and  don  a  fustian  jerkin  instead  of 
a  silken  doublet. 

'  But  for  workadays  we'll  cover  up  fine  clothes 
with  that  kind  of  garment,'  said  he,  indicating  the 
row  of  youths  who  sat  busied  with  their  little  tools 
and  implements  in  the  great  studio  behind  the  shop, 
clad  from  neck  to  heels  in  calico  smocks. 

Beyond  we  caught  a  vista  of  the  yard,  where  the 
elm-trees  must  make  a  pleasant  shade  in  summer. 
In  the  open  shed  stood  divers  fair  sundials  on 
gleaming  marble  pedestals  and  pillars,  ready  to  be 
transported  to  all  parts  for  the  adornment  of  noble- 
men's gardens. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  49 

We  went  upstairs  to  the  parlour  which  lies  over 
the  shop  and  the  studio,  and  hath  three  deep  em- 
brasured windows  with  diamond-paned  lattices  pro- 
jecting on  the  street  and  commanding  a  view  of  the 
whole  length  of  Cheap.  Here  Hugh  is  to  enjoy  the 
privilege  of  taking  his  meals  at  his  master's  board. 
The  ceiling  has  a  dial  painted  on  it  in  red  and  azure 
with  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac  ;  these,  too,  are  carved 
on  the  wainscot,  together  with  many  mottoes  for 
dials,  mostly  scriptural.  A  table  in  the  alcove  was 
littered  with  maps  and  mathematical  instruments, 
and  over  it  hangs  a  copy  of  the  portrait,  done  by  the 
hand  of  Hans  Holbein,  of  that  great  forerunner  of 
Master  Haynes,  the  German  dial  and  clock-maker, 
Nicholas  Kratzer,  who  was  so  greatly  honoured  in 
this  country  in  King  Hal's  reign  that  a  degree  was 
conferred  on  him  at  Oxford. 

Mistress  Margaret  Haynes  was  summoned  by  her 
father  to  make  our  acquaintance.  Though  she  hath 
the  advantage  of  Laurel  in  years,  she  looked  small 
beside  her.  Her  manner  at  first  was  somewhat  prim 
and  shy,  but  her  complexion  is  like  May  blossoms : 
her  eyes  blue,  and  her  hair,  as  much  of  it  as  I  could 
see  beneath  her  white  cap,  is  fair,  and  grows  in  soft 
waves.  She  was  dressed  in  gray,  with  that  simplicity 
which  only  the  extreme  Puritans  affect.  It  is  scarcely 
seen  at  all  among  the  wives  and  daughters  of  London 

4 


50  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

citizens.  Yet  there  is  no  denying  a  plain  gray  kirtle 
and  a  muslin  crossover,  when  'tis  of  such  dainty 
purity  as  Mistress  Margaret's,  is  very  becoming. 

'  These  are  disordered  times,  and  'tis  difficult  to 
keep  the  young  men  in  harness,'  said  Master  Haynes, 
looking  from  one  of  the  windows.  '  See,  this  is  what 
happens  now  every  day.' 

A  detachment  of  the  train-bands  were  marching 
past  to  their  drill-ground  in  Artillery  Fields,  and 
from  the  doorways  opposite  poured  'prentices  by  the 
score,  calling  huzzahs  and  waving  their  square  caps, 
some  tearing  after  the  soldiers. 

'  If  it  comes  to  war,  and  the  stars  predict  it, 
methinks  I  shall  have  to  shut  up  shop  and  let  the 
boys  go  a-soldiering ;  for  the  most  diligent  craftsmen 
become  game  as  fighting-cocks  when  the  air  is  full 
of  trumpeting  and  bugle  calls.' 

'  But  Hugh  won't  go  if  'tis  to  fight  against  the 
King,'  exclaimed  Laurel,  casting  on  Hugh  that  look 
of  nigh  maternal  protection  which  is  so  curious  in  a 
maid  of  her  years. 

Mistress  Margaret,  forgetting  her  shyness,  accepted 
Laurel's  words  as  a  challenge. 

'  It  will  be  the  duty  of  all  Londoners  to  defend 
their  city,'  said  she,  '  even  against  the  King,  if  the 
King  be  so  misguided  as  to  make  war  on  his 
subjects.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  51 

'Twas  evident  Mistress  Margaret  Haynes  had 
breathed  in  the  disaffected  atmosphere  around  her, 
and  she  was  better  primed  for  argument  than  Laurel, 
fresh  from  Blois,  whose  loyalty  was  newborn.  Me- 
thought  it  had  been  roused  to  life  on  the  spot  by 
Mistress  Margaret's  Puritan  garb  and  opposition. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  with  some  defiance. 
Hugh,  meanwhile,  had  moved  away,  and  was  ex- 
amining a  device  on  paper  for  a  dial  at  the  end  of 
the  room. 

He  called  Laurel  to  look  at  it. 

'  See,  Laurel,'  he  said,  'this  motto  is  from  the  song 
of  Ronsard  that  you  sing  with  so  much  sweetness.' 

Laurel  sang  the  words  softly  over  his  shoulder  : 

'  Le  temps  s'en  va,  le  temps  s'en  va,  madame, 
He*las,  le  temps,  non,  mais  nous  en  aliens.' 

'Ay,  Hugh,'  she  added,  'you  will  never  forget  that 
life  is  brief  and  that  death  must  come,  living  sur- 
rounded by  mottoes  which,  whether  they  be  in  Latin, 
English,  or  French,  all  harp  on  the  same  theme.' 

'  Your  daughter  hath  a  voice,  sir,  that  one  would 
fain  hear  more  of,'  Master  Haynes  said  to  Gabriel. 

As  an  invitation  to  Laurel  to  sing  he  opened  a  pair 
of  virginals,  the  cover  of  which  was  most  rarely  carved 
and  inlet  with  miniatures  of  Dutch  landscapes. 

'  I  cannot  attune  my  voice  as  yet  to  the  virginals 

4—2 


52  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

and  harpsichon,  though  Mr.  Howard  will  teach  me  to 
do  it  in  time,'  said  Laurel. 

'  But  she  sings  to  the  lute.  You  should  hear  her 
sing  to  the  lute,  master!'  Hugh  exclaimed  eagerly, 
his  pride  of  Laurel's  singing  conquering  his  awe  of 
the  great  dialler. 

'Fetch  thy  lute,'  Master  Haynes  said  to  his 
daughter.  '  Thou  givest  it  so  little  use  methinks 
it  will  rust.' 

'  'Tis  only  profane  ditties,  not  songs  of  praise,  that 
need  to  be  accompanied  by  the  lute,'  Mistress 
Margaret  said,  as  she  went  to  do  her  father's  bidding. 

Laurel  gave  her  courteous  thanks  when  she  brought 
the  lute,  and  asked  what  she  should  sing. 

'  Anything  that  pleaseth  you  will  please  our  ears,' 
Master  Haynes  said  politely. 

The  clear  full  notes  of  penetrating  sweetness  and 
passion  rilled  the  room,  and  'twas  the  Scottish 
Queen's  chanson  of  farewell  to  the  country  of  her 
gay  and  happy  youth  that  Laurel  sang. 

'  Adieu,  plaisant  pays  de  France, 
O  ma  patrie  la  plus  cherie, 
Qui  a  nourri  ma  jeune  enfance. 
Adieu,  France — adieu,  mes  beaux  jours. 

'  La  nef  qui  dejoint  nos  amours 
N'a  cy  de  moi  que  la  moiti^  ; 
Une  partie  te  reste,  elle  est  tienne  ; 
Je  la  fie  a  ton  amitid 
Pour  que  de  1'autre  elle  te  souvienne.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  53 

Methought  in  these  words  of  sweet  sadness  Laurel 
did  take  her  farewell  of  Hugh  and  their  old  life  of 
comradeship  together  at  Blois.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
on  her  till  the  song  was  over,  and  in  them  there  was 
something  I  had  not  seen  there  when  he  bent  over 
Silence  and  gave  her  his  cherished  little  pocket  dial 
as  she  lay  on  the  floor,  breaking  her  heart  at  his 
going. 

After  we  had  seen  Hugh's  small  chamber,  we  took 
our  leave  of  Master  Haynes  and  his  daughter.  On 
the  way  home  a  party  of  horsemen,  wearing  a  green 
livery,  clattered  past  us,  and  Gabriel  said  they  were 
the  men  of  Bucks  going  to  Westminster  to  play 
guard  to  Mr.  Hampden. 

'  And  the  King  ?  Why  does  the  King  not  come 
back  to  Whitehall  ?  Shall  I  never  see  the  King  ?' 
asked  Laurel. 

'  His  Majesty  is  out  of  conceit  with  the  citizens  of 
London,'  her  father  made  answer,  '  and  doth  show 
his  displeasure  by  keeping  the  light  of  his  countenance 
turned  from  them.' 

Laurel's  interest  in  public  affairs  having  been 
aroused  by  her  recent  short  encounter  with  Mistress 
Margaret  Haynes,  she  asked  many  questions  ;  and 
Gabriel  related  the  present  unhappy  relations  in 
which  the  King  stood  to  his  Parliament,  and  how  the 
state  of  things  had  arisen.  He  told  the  story  of  the 


54  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Star  Chamber  and  Ship-money  clearly  and  fairly 
withal,  not  laying  the  blame  at  one  door  more  than 
another,  for  my  Sir  Oracle  can  look  at  a  question 
from  more  than  one  point  of  view,  and  sees  the  rights 
and  faults  of  both  sides.  That  is  why  he  takes  but  a 
passive  share  in  these  burning  controversies  that  rage 
so  bitterly,  and  is  no  more  likely  to  send  his  plate  to 
be  put  in  the  King's  melting-pot  than  he  is  to  help 
fill  the  coffers  of  the  Parliament. 

Thus  Gabriel  can  entertain  at  his  board  men  of 
divers  and  opposing  opinions  and  hold  the  just 
balance  'twixt  them,  as  hath  been  the  case  to-day. 
There  was  Mr.  Hobbes  the  philosopher,  with  his  red 
whiskers  and  keen  hazel  eyes,  on  the  eve  of  departure 
for  France,  whither  he  is  going  to  escape  being  clapped 
into  the  Tower  for  holding  that  the  King's  sovereignty, 
being  born  with  him,  is  not  to  be  dissociated  from 
his  person,  so  that  'tis  lawful  for  him  to  act  as  he 
will,  whether  his  acts  be  constitutional  or  the  reverse. 
Next  to  him  was  sitting  Mr.  Selden,  who  thinks 
exactly  the  opposite,  and  is  an  enemy  of  the  Bishops. 
Yet  their  conversation  was  amicable,  even  when  the 
two  gentlemen  fell  to  talking  of  the  Bill  for  excluding 
Bishops  from  Parliament.  Consent  to  this  had  been 
wrung  from  the  King  by  the  tearful  entreaties  of  the 
Queen,  whose  journey  into  Holland,  it  was  threatened, 
should  be  prevented  if  the  Bill  were  not  passed. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  55 

Mr.  Selden  is  tall  and  lanky,  with  a  long  neck  and 
a  long  nose,  which  hath  a  twist  at  the  tip.  His 
tongue  is  so  sharp  it  seems  near  to  flay  the  skin  of 
those  who  hear  him  talk,  but  his  sayings  are  full  of 
pith  and  wisdom.  Infinitely  more  pleasing  is  Mr. 
Edmund  Waller's  manner  of  converse.  'Tis  fluent 
and  vivacious  and  full  of  charm.  Mr.  Waller  first 
sat  in  Parliament  when  he  was  eighteen,  and  spent 
his  early  youth  at  King  James's  Court.  He  has 
married  two  wives,  and  he  wooed  in  vain  the  fair 
lady  Dorothea  Sidney,  whom,  under  the  name  of 
Sacharissa,  he  hath  eternalized  in  his  smooth  and 
polished  verse.  He  is  nearly  related  to  Mr.  Hampden, 
and  passes  as  an  adherent  of  the  Parliament,  though 
methinks,  from  words  he  let  fall  this  evening,  he 
bears  no  ill  will  towards  His  Majesty,  and  only  lately 
he  hath  made  a  great  speech  pleading  that  Epis- 
copacy should  be  reformed,  not  abolished.  Mr. 
Waller  delighted  the  company  by  recounting  a  merry 
story  of  King  James. 

'Talking  of  Bishops,'  said  he,  'I  once  overheard 
his  late  Majesty,  when  the  Bishops  of  Winchester  and 
Durham  were  standing  behind  his  chair,  ask  :  "  My 
lords,  cannot  I  take  my  subjects'  money  when  I  want 
it  without  all  this  formality  of  Parliament  ?" 

'  Dr.  Neale,  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  readily  an- 
swered : 


$6  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

' "  Sir,  why  should  you  not  ?  You  are  the  very 
breath  of  our  nostrils." 

'  Whereupon  the  King  turned  and  said  to  the  Bishop 
of  Winchester : 

'  "  Well,  my  lord,  what  say  you  ?" 

'"Sir,"  replied  the  Bishop,  "I  have  no  skill  to 
judge  of  Parliamentary  cases." 

'  The  King  answered  : 

*  "  No  put-offs,  my  lord;  I'll  have  an  answer." 

'  "  Then,  sir,"  said  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  "  I 
think  it  is  lawful  for  you  to  take  my  brother  Neale's 
money,  for  he  offers  it." 

'  Now,  who  would  have  thought  a  Bishop  capable 
of  so  brilliant  a  thrust  ?'  remarked  Mr.  Selden. 

Sitting  here  in  the  quiet  privacy  of  the  carnation 
closet,  I  would  fain  set  down  some  of  Mr.  Selden's 
thrusts,  Mr.  Hobbes'  parries,  and  Mr.  Waller's 
flashes  of  wit ;  but,  perchance  because  I  am  drowsy, 
I  can  recall  only  the  impression,  not  the  words.  I 
have  said  nought  of  Mr.  Abraham  Cowley,  who  was 
of  the  company.  He  did  not  shine  in  it,  for  though 
he  writes  finer  poetry  than  Mr.  Waller,  he  is  a  poor 
talker  and  stumbles  in  his  speech. 

Gabriel  has  put  his  head  in  at  the  door  to  say  he 
would  never  have  given  me  a  day-book  if  he  had 
guessed  it  would  keep  me  up  so  late.  Without  in 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  57 

the  Lane,  among  the  cries  of  Candlemas  roysterers, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  the  bellman  calling,  '  A  fine  star- 
light night,'  and  as  I  am  nodding  over  this  page  and 
the  quill  slipping  from  my  fingers,  methinks  I  had 
better  stop. 

March. 

I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  find  the  key  to  Silence's 
heart  ?  Her  dumbness  doth  surround  her  with  such 
seemingly  impenetrable  barriers  of  mystery  and 
reserve.  Laurel  addresses  me  now,  not  as  step- 
mother or  madame,  but  calls  me  mother.  'Tis  only 
in  her  stout  defence  of  Silence  that  she  sometimes 
opposes  my  authority.  She  is  an  affectionate,  win- 
some maid,  somewhat  of  a  chatterbox,  though  I  have 
noticed  she  often  puts  a  check  on  her  tongue  in 
Silence's  presence.  Laurel's  lips  are  moulded  with 
so  clean  a  beauty  that  Silence  can  read  them  as  she 
can  Hugh's,  and  it  irritates  her  when  they  move  too 
fast. 

Laurel  will  cease  playing  on  any  instrument  of 
music  directly  Silence  comes  into  the  room.  She 
has  begged  that  when  my  father  comes  to  instruct 
her  Silence  may  be  kept  at  her  sampler  upstairs. 

'  She  can  tolerate  to  see  me  sing  or  dance,'  said 
Laurel, '  but  for  music  she  hath  an  abhorrence.  'Tis 
strange,  as  she  cannot  hear  it.  At  Blois,  when  the 
fiddlers  and  pipers  played  at  the  grape-picking  feasts, 


58  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

she  would  not  tarry  in  the  vineyard.  And  Hugh 
never  dared  play  on  his  violin  before  her  except 
once.  Then  she  could  so  ill  bear  it  that,  with  her 
teeth  set  and  eyes  aflame,  she  leapt  on  Hugh  and 
tried  to  wrench  the  violin  out  of  his  hands.  He 
held  it  high  above  him  out  of  her  reach,  but  she 
caught  the  bow,  and  her  anger  gave  her  strength  to 
break  it  in  two.  Methinks  she  was  jealous — jealous 
that  Hugh  should  rest  his  chin  so  lovingly  on  what 
to  her  was  naught  but  a  piece  of  wood,  and  look  so 
blissful  at  dragging  sweet  sounds  from  it.  Yes,' 
added  Laurel,  '  I  can  understand  how  she  feels,  my 
poor  Silence  !  Is  she  not  fair,  mother,  and  is  not 
her  broidering  a  marvel  ?' 

In  truth  it  is,  and  Silence  works  miracles  with  her 
needle.  Her  restless  limbs  are  still,  her  fair  face 
intent,  when  she  sits  at  her  frame  with  the  gay- 
coloured  crewels  and  gold  and  silver  threads  around 
her.  Her  samplers  are  pictures  into  which  are 
wrought  stories  and  fancies  and  beasts  and  birds  out 
of  Silence's  head.  There  are  no  stitches  in  needle- 
work that  I  can  teach  her,  for  she  knows  them  all. 
But  in  the  stillroom  she  has  much  to  learn,  this 
branch  of  my  stepdaughters'  education  having, 
methinks,  been  neglected  at  Blois.  They  are  both 
ignorant  of  herbs,  and  have  never  been  taught  to 
make  caudles  and  syrups  or  to  conserve  and  candy. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  59 

Their  gentlewoman,  Miriam  Fisher,  saith  that 
Alphonse  is  to  blame  for  this.  Alphonse  was  wont 
to  rule  the  menage  like  a  despot,  and  would  not 
brook  any  encroachment  on  his  own  sacred  domain. 
Now  he  would  hold  a  like  sway  here,  and  doth  refuse 
to  impart  any  of  his  culinary  secrets  to  the  English 
cook,  who,  on  her  side,  affects  to  disdain  them. 
Alphonse  says  there  cannot  be  two  chefs  in  an 
establishment,  and  has  inquired  whether  he  is  to  be 
the  chef  vrai  or  the  chef  nominal;  if  but  the  chef 
nominal,  well,  then  'twere  easy  to  go  to  be  chef  in  the 
palace  of  a  milord  on  the  Thames,  only  the  young 
demoiselles  can  eat  no  potage  but  that  prepared  by 
his  hands,  the  hands  of  Alphonse.  So  what  shall 
be  done  ? 

'  We  must  not  suffer  Alphonse  to  cause  trouble  in 
the  household,'  said  my  husband  when  I  repeated 
this.  '  'Tis  simple  enough  to  send  him  back  to 
Blois.' 

'  No,  no,  father,  do  not  send  Alphonse  back,' 
implored  Laurel.  '  Only  conceive  how  Silence  would 
miss  Alphonse's  gateaux  de  fete  /' 

'  That  is  talking  like  a  foolish  child,  Laurel.  'Tis 
for  your  mother  to  decide  whether  Alphonse  goes  or 
stays.' 

'  If  you  send  Alphonse  away,'  said  Laurel,  turning 
to  me,  '  Silence  will  hate  you.' 


60  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

This  was  the  time,  thought  I,  to  show  'twas  not 
by  humouring  all  Silence's  whimsies  that  I  desired 
to  win  her  affection,  so  I  said  : 

'  Nevertheless,  Alphonse  will  go  if  he  persists  in 
not  living  in  charity  and  goodwill  with  our  English 
servants.' 

'  Silence  will  hate  you,'  Laurel  repeated  in  a  low 
tone  that  did  not  reach  her  father's  ears,  but  only 
mine,  as  she  left  the  room. 

Afterwards,  when  Laurel  and  Silence  were  come 
back  from  taking  the  air  with  their  gentlewoman  in 
the  fields  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  I  saw  from  my  windows 
Laurel  cross  the  courtyard  to  the  servants'  lodgings, 
and  hold  a  conference  with  Alphonse.  She  urged 
him,  I  did  not  doubt,  to  be  less  overbearing  and 
quarrelsome  in  future.  Many  shrugs,  gesticulations, 
and  at  last  bows  and  smiles,  seemed  to  satisfy  her 
that  she  had  gained  her  point. 

And  the  gateau  de  fete  which  Alphonse  did  design 
to  honour  Hugh,  when  he  came  hither  last  Sunday 
for  the  first  time  since  we  left  him  at  the  dialler's, 
was  so  wondrously  ingenious  that  Alphonse  was  said 
to  have  surpassed  himself,  and  in  this  performance 
to  have  called  forth  ungrudging  applause  from  his 
rival  in  the  kitchen.  'Twas  in  the  shape  of  a  tortoise, 
to  imitate  the  sign  over  Master  Haynes's  door,  and 
the  shell  was  made  of  frosted  rose-leaves  and  violet 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  61 

petals,  and  bien-venu  was  writ  in  letters  of  gilded 
hazel-nuts  round  the  creature's  neck. 

Hugh  sat  again  in  the  library  with  his  foster- 
sisters  as  on  the  evening  of  their  arrival,  the  spaniels 
playing  at  their  feet,  the  parrot  perching  first  on  one 
and  then  on  another,  and  Bo-bo  the  squirrel  scurry- 
ing round  on  the  top  of  the  bookshelves. 

Yet  the  picture  was  not  the  same,  for  Hugh's 
flaming  curls,  that  then  had  set  aglow  the  sombre 
background  of  dark  oak  wainscot  and  ancient  vellum 
bindings,  were  gone.  He  had  chosen  to  get  his 
head  cropped  like  the  majority  of  Master  Haynes's 
apprentices,  and  no  longer  wears  the  short  rapier 
with  jewelled  hilt  at  his  girdle. 

Silence's  joy  at  his  coming  gave  place  for  a 
moment  to  sharp  distress  as  she  marked  the  change, 
and  Laurel  said  : 

'  'Tis  the  prim  Puritan  miss,  belike,  who  made 
you  cut  your  hair  ?' 

'  Nay,'  Hugh  answered  ;  '  'tis  the  fashion  for 
'prentices.' 

'  And  'tis  the  fashion  for  'prentices  to  fall  in  love 
with  Mistress  Prunes  and  Prisms.  Are  you  follow- 
ing that  fashion  too  ?' 

'  Mistress  Margaret  Haynes  is  good  and  fair.  We 
will  not  speak  of  her  by  nicknames.' 

'  Maybe  'tis  profane  to  speak  of  her  at  all,  as  'tis 


62  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

profane  to  sing  ditties  to  the  lute.  Was  she  not 
mightily  shocked  at  what  I  sang  ?' 

Hugh  gave  no  answer,  and  Laurel  laughed  merrily 
over  her  own  jest  at  the  expense  of  Mistress  Margaret. 
There  is  a  look  of  sadness  sometimes  in  Hugh's  red- 
brown  eyes.  He  knows  his  mother's  grievous  story, 
and  doth  cherish  in  his  heart  a  deep  resentment 
against  the  father  he  has  never  seen,  but  who  still 
lives  under  another  name,  Gabriel  believes.  Indeed, 
'tis  likely  enough  the  name  he  bestowed  on  his  poor 
little  bride  was  not  his  own,  for  'tis  affirmed  by  her 
relatives  that  he  has  from  time  to  time  assumed  dis- 
guises and  played  divers  parts.  Another  cause  of 
Hugh's  occasional  melancholy  is  his  consciousness 
of  the  defects  of  his  person.  But  who  thinks  of  the 
little  crookedness  in  his  back,  and  that  one  shoulder 
is  not  even  with  the  other,  when  looking  at  his  face  ? 
In  Hugh's  face  is  a  power  which  atones  for  any 
weakness  of  figure.  A  world  of  strength  lies  alone 
in  the  firm  chin  and  clear-cut  lips,  and  a  strange 
light  shines  out  through  his  eyes  when  he  is  moved 
to  an  outburst  of  talking,  he  being  as  a  rule  a  lad  of 
few  words. 

If  he  would  not  speak  of  Mistress  Margaret  he  had 
much  to  say  of  his  wonderful  master,  and  related 
with  pride  that  he  had  been  admitted  to  his  sanctum 
at  the  top  of  the  house,  a  privilege  scarcely  ever 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  63 

granted  to  the  younger  apprentices.  Here  Master 
Haynes  casts  horoscopes,  and  he  has  shown  Hugh 
a  comet  through  the  giant  telescope  from  a  platform 
on  the  leads.  This  comet  portends,  Master  Haynes 
said,  a  bloody  and  desolating  war,  which  will  tear 
the  kingdom  in  twain,  and  will  in  the  end  be  the 
undoing  of  His  Majesty. 

The  King  hath  now  resolved  to  make  his  capital 
in  York,  and  from  thence  refuses  all  the  Parlia- 
ment's petitions  to  come  to  them  again,  saying 
that  he  would  be  but  the  shadow  of  a  King  if  he 
yielded  the  command  of  the  militia  to  the  Parliament. 

So  preparations  for  war  go  on  apace,  and  the  City 
is  becoming  a  camp.  The  King  may  well  call  London 
'  the  nursery  of  the  rebellion,'  though  Sir  Oracle 
saith  there  are  many  wealthy  citizens  and  Aldermen, 
such  as  Sir  Paul  Pindar  and  Sir  Nicholas  Crisp, 
who  will  gladly  beggar  themselves  in  sending  secret 
supplies  to  the  King.  Most  of  those  who  are  friendly 
to  the  King  in  the  Parliament  have  gone  to  York ; 
those  who  remain  run  the  risk  every  day  of  arrest 
and  imprisonment.  Sir  Richard  Gurney,  our  good 
and  gallant  Lord  Mayor,  has  been  deprived  of  his 
office  and  sent  to  the  Tower,  being  suspected  of 
sympathizing  with  the  Court,  and  in  his  stead  they 
have  elected  one,  Mr.  Pennington,  a  Puritan,  out 
and  out  for  the  Parliament. 


64  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

The  order  for  a  great  sundial  for  the  King's  garden 
in  Whitehall,  Hugh  told  us,  was  being  held  in 
abeyance  by  his  master,  although  a  most  elaborate 
and  magnificent  design  had  been  drawn  out  for  it. 
'Twas  thought  possible  that  in  the  present  disturbed 
and  uncertain  state  of  affairs  the  work  might,  belike, 
neither  be  erected  nor  paid  for,  so  'twas  deemed 
safer  not  to  embark  on  the  task  of  executing  it. 

'The  King  has  had  ever  a  great  fancy  for  dials,' 
said  Hugh.  '  Once  when  he  visited  the  City  he 
came  privately  to  Master  Haynes,  the  'prentices 
say,  and  made  choice  of  a  small  gold  pocket  dial  to 
wear  on  his  person.' 

'  Oh,  lucky  Mistress  Margaret !'  exclaimed  Laurel. 
'  The  King  came  into  her  father's  shop,  you  say  ? 
She  will  have  seen  him  face  to  face,  and  maybe 
conversed  with  him  ?  Ay,  I  envy  your  Mistress 
Margaret,  Hugh.  Not  that  she  will  hold  herself 
enviable,  I  warrant,  with  her  talk  of  defending  the 
City  against  the  King — against  the  King,  forsooth  !' 

'  Kings  are  all  very  well,'  Hugh  answered ;  '  but 
rights  and  liberties  are  precious  things,  and  even 
kings  must  be  taught  not  to  tamper  therewith.' 

Thus  quickly  has  Hugh  picked  up  the  political 
jargon  of  the  day,  and  caught  the  views  that  prevail 
mostly  now  among  his  fellow  - 'prentices  and  the 
citizens  of  London. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  65 

Laurel,  on  the  other  hand,  grows  daily  a  more 
zealous  King's  woman,  with  little,  'tis  true,  to  feed 
her  zeal  in  a  London  which  King  and  Court  have 
deserted. 

Her  father  sets  her  the  example  of  moderation,  at 
which,  methinks,  she  is  not  a  little  provoked,  and 
beneath  his  roof  men  who  are  on  both  sides,  or  on 
neither,  meet  on  neutral  ground. 


IV 

June  25,  1642. 

GABRIEL  has  a  property  consisting  of  cherry-gardens 
and  a  small  farm  near  Hampstead  Mills,  and  we  took 
coach  thither  to-day  for  a  midsummer  frolic. 

First  we  went  to  Hart  Street  to  add  Peg  and  Prue 
and  little  Jane  and  Jack  to  our  party.  On  our  way 
through  the  City  we  beheld  a  remarkable  spectacle. 
Surging  towards  the  Guildhall  was  a  great  throng  of 
womenfolk,  of  all  ranks  and  all  ages.  Dames  and 
daughters  of  wealthy  merchants,  bejewelled  and 
beribboned,  cheek  by  jowl  with  Holborn  water- 
carriers  and  hucksters'  wives.  The  rich  were  followed 
by  servants  bearing  gold  and  silver  plate,  handsome 
goblets  and  flagons,  and  most  of  the  humbler  women, 
down  to  the  poorest,  held  some  small  treasured 
possession  in  their  aprons.  One  or  two,  as  they 
joined  in  the  procession,  took  the  silver  bodkins  from 
their  hair,  and  the  wedding-rings  from  their  fingers, 
and  declared  that  'twas  all  they  had,  but  they  would 

[66] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  67 

give  it  readily.  This  was  part  of  the  response  in 
the  City  to  the  Parliament's  order  that  '  troops  and 
money  should  be  raised  there  to  meet  the  King's 
active  preparations  for  war  ' — this  train  of  women, 
wending  their  way  with  trinkets  and  toys,  through 
the  bright  sunlit  streets  beneath  the  deep  blue  of  the 
June  sky. 

Here  and  there  I  recognised  a  face  I  had  known 
from  childhood :  a  citizen's  wife,  whose  sons  and 
daughters  my  father  had  taught  the  viol  and  lute  ; 
the  wife  of  the  sexton  of  St.  Olave's ;  the  mother  of 
one  of  the  numerous  cook-boys,  who  had  succeeded 
each  other  so  rapidly  in  our  home  in  Hart  Street. 
But  I  must  confess  'twas  no  little  surprise  to  see  in 
this  patriotic  crowd  Mistress  Travers,  the  widow  of 
Seething  Lane,  my  brother  Roger's  godmother. 

She  minced  along  in  her  best  furbelows  and 
flounces,  holding  a  mighty  fine  jewel-box  before 
her,  and  was  followed  by  a  rosy-cheeked  serving- 
maid. 

'  We  have  had  naught  of  madam's  company  lately, 
thank  goodness,'  said  Peg  when  I  told  her.  '  Me- 
thinks  at  last  she  hath  abandoned  her  quest  as  vain, 
and  sees  that  none  of  her  blandishments  and  wiles 
will  ever  win  us.' 

'  She  has  not  .been  near  the  house,'  Prue  explained, 
'  since  the  night  she  took  upon  herself  to  put  Jack  to 

5—2 


68  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

bed,  hoping  to  get  into  Penelope's  good  books  by 
saving  her  the  trouble.' 

'  And  I  wouldn't  let  her  hear  me  say  my  prayers,' 
Jack  broke  in ;  '  and  when  she  asked  why  I 
wouldn't,  I  said  'twas  because  I  was  going  to  pray 
that  she  shouldn't  invite  herself  to  sup  with  us  any 
more,  and  make  Peg  cross.' 

'Well  done,  Jack!'  laughed  Prue.  '"Sweetest 
cherub  "  betrayed  the  citadel,  'tis  true,  but  we  must 
give  him  the  credit  of  having  cleared  it  withal.' 

'  I  would  fain  not  hear  of  Jack's  discourtesies  to 
any  lady  in  his  father's  house/  said  I,  a  reproof  which 
made  Jack  crimson,  and  say  : 

'  Peg  didn't  scold  me  for't.' 

Now  'twas  Peg's  turn  to  blush,  but  the  irre- 
pressible Prue  went  on : 

'  That  jewel-box,  Lovejoy,  which  you  saw  madam 
carrying  just  now  to  the  Guildhall,  with  all  the 
sacrificial  airs  of  a  Roman  matron,  I'll  warrant 
— don't  I  know  that  jewel-box  ? — 'tis  lined  with 
quilted  blue  satin  and  scented  with  musk.  She  hath 
opened  it  before  me,  to  dazzle  my  eyes  with  its 
contents,  and  tried  to  tempt  me  to  accept  a  gift 
therefrom.  I  might  have  had  a  cross  set  with 
emeralds,  a  chain  of  fine  gold,  or  a  pearl  ring  with  a 
posy.  "  Now,  you  pretty  puss,  choose  which  you 
like,"  said  she.  Belike  if  she  had  not  called  me  puss 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  69 

I  might  have  yielded ;  but  that  gave  me  a  nausea. 
'Tis  she  who  purrs,  methinks.  I  thanked  her,  and 
said  my  father  would  not  permit  us  to  accept 
presents.  "  Not  from  strangers  or  gallants,  I 
perfectly  understand,"  said  she  ;  "  but  from  me,  so 
old  and  tried  a  friend."  And  she  put  her  head  on 
one  side,  simpering,  and  stroked  my  cheek,  and  then 
I  was  as  firm  as  adamant.' 

'  And  if  you  had  not  been,  the  Parliament  would 
now  be  the  poorer  by  one  emerald  cross,  perchance,' 
said  Peg. 

Amidst  this  chatter  Laurel  sat  silent  beside  me,  for 
she  still  bears  herself  with  some  reserve  towards  my 
sisters.  Gabriel  rid  behind  the  coach,  and  Silence 
and  Mistress  Miriam  were  each  on  a  pillion.  Jack  sat 
betwixt  Peg  and  Prue  in  the  coach,  and  Jane  was 
without  on  the  box,  to  her  infinite  enjoyment.  We 
passed  fair  gardens  that  the  merchants  rent  at  some 
distance  from  the  City,  away  from  their  houses.  So 
far  as  their  fruit-gardens  I  have  often  come  on 
summer  evenings,  ever  since  I  can  remember — my 
father's  friends  among  the  Aldermen  inviting  us  to 
feast  on  their  strawberries,  and  to  disport  ourselves 
in  their  shady  walks  under  the  fruit-trees.  I  have 
seen  many  times  the  citizens'  pretty  daughters,  attired 
like  mock  shepherdesses,  coquetting  here  with  their 
fathers'  'prentices,  or  with  their  rivals  and  sworn  foes, 


70  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

the  gentlemen  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  who  do  not  dis- 
dain to  woo  the  merchants'  money-bags.  To-day  not 
the  flutter  of  a  petticoat  was  to  be  seen  among  the 
strawberry-beds,  the  fair  ones  being  too  busily  en- 
gaged, I  suppose,  in  swimming  with  the  popular  tide 
in  the  City  to  come  forth  and  play  at  rural  pastimes. 

Further  than  the  gardens  I  had  scarce  ever  been ; 
but  now  we  left  them  far  behind  us,  and  climbed  a 
steep  ascent  'twixt  hayfields  and  honeysuckle  hedges. 
Then  our  road  was  flanked  with  stately  elms,  and  at 
every  turn  of  it  we  looked  down  on  green  glades  and 
pastures  gilded  with  buttercups,  and  here  and  there 
a  silver  mirror  of  water,  shining  out  from  its  frame- 
work of  sedge  and  rushes  and  forget-me-nots.  The 
prospect  widened  and  widened  as  we  reached  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  and  we  alighted  by  the  windmills 
on  a  wild,  open  heath.  To  the  west  one  seems,  as  it 
were,  to  look  over  the  heads  of  vast  woods,  that 
stretch  away  in  waves  to  blue  hills  that  rise  ridge 
upon  ridge  till  they  melt  in  the  sky.  'Twas  so  clear 
to-day  that  we  could  see  the  Castle  of  Windsor  em- 
bowered in  its  forest ;  whilst  on  the  other  side,  to  the 
east,  London,  with  its  steeples  and  towers  and 
bastions,  lay  unfolded  at  our  feet,  like  a  parti- 
coloured map. 

As  we  stood  gazing  on  the  goodly  view,  a  breeze, 
such  as  I  have  never  felt  the  like  for  sweetness  and 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  71 

freshness  on  a  hot  summer  day,  did  sport  with  our 
kirtles  and  ribands  and  ruffle  our  tresses.  It  sent 
Jack's  cap  from  his  head,  dancing  along  the  uneven 
ground,  and  he  and  Jane  pursued  it,  fluttering 
among  the  broom-bushes  like  a  pair  of  butterflies. 

'  Methinks  this  is  the  hill,  sister  Lovejoy,'  said 
Jack,  as  he  came  back  out  of  breath  from  the  chase 
of  his  cap,  'where  Sir  Richard  Whittington  sat 
looking  down  on  London  with  his  cat,  and  heard 
the  bells.' 

'  Let  us  play  at  a  game  of  oranges  and  lemons,' 
cried  Jane  at  the  mention  of  bells. 

'Nay;  methought  cherry -bob  was  to  be  the 
favoured  game  to-day, "said  Gabriel. 

'  But  where  are  the  cherries  ?'  the  children  asked. 

'  Come  with  me  and  I  will  show  you,'  Gabriel  said. 

We  followed  him  down  a  rough  path  into  a  dell 
on  the  heathside,  and  here  were  the  cherry  orchards, 
backing  the  low -gabled  wooden  farmhouse,  with  a 
paved  yard  full  of  cocks  and  hens  and  geese. 

The  farmer's  wife  came  out,  curtseying  and 
smiling,  to  greet  us,  and  ushered  us  into  her  cool, 
low  parlour,  with  flagged  floor  and  green  lattices, 
where  she  set  before  us  new-pressed  curds,  cream 
fresh  from  the  bowl,  butter  fragrant  from  the  churn, 
brown  bread  and  honey,  and  a  pitcher  of  wine  made 
of  her  own  meadow  cowslips.  After  enjoying  this 


72  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

dainty  cheer  we  went  out  into  the  orchards,  and 
a  veritable  canopy  of  red,  black  and  white-heart 
cherries  hung  above  us.  The  farm  servants  brought 
ladders,  and  we  fell  to  plucking  the  cherries, 
and  the  children  did  feast  on  them.  Silence,  me- 
thought,  looked  happier  and  more  content  than  she 
was  generally  wont  to  do  out  of  Hugh's  company. 
Laurel  said  'twas  because  the  great  woods  that 
girdled  Hampstead  reminded  her  of  the  forest  at 
Blois.  Silence  had  been  grave  when  we  had  took 
boat  one  day  to  see  the  lions  and  white  bears  at  the 
Tower,  and  she  had  not  smiled  when  some  mummers 
came  and  played  their  antics  before  our  windows  in 
Chancery  Lane  at  Whitsuntide;  but  now  she  was 
actually  laughing  as  she  swung  herself  on  the  branch 
of  a  cherry-tree  and  tossed  down  bunches  of  the 
fruit  into  a  hamper,  in  which  little  Jack  sat  and  tried 
to  catch  the  cherries  in  his  mouth  as  they  fell.  This 
rare  laughter  of  Silence's  has  a  curious  gurgling 
sound  that  is  nigh  uncanny,  but  it  doth  add  to  the 
beauty  of  her  fair  face,  inasmuch  as  it  sets  all  its 
wondrous  soft  curves  and  dimples  in  play  and  lights 
up  her  great  melancholy  eyes. 

The  task  of  mounting  guard  over  her  sister  that 
Laurel  doth  so  lovingly  impose  upon  herself,  even 
though  her  gentlewoman  be  present,  may  make  me 
less  watchful  of  her  perhaps  than  I  should  be  other- 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  73 

wise.  Anyhow,  to-day  I  had  not  noticed  her  slip 
down  from  the  tree  and  wander  away  by  herself, 
when  Gabriel  took  me  to  see  his  dappled  cows  in  a 
neighbouring  meadow. 

'  Hearken  !  what  is  that?'  I  exclaimed;  for,  coming 
from  some  distance,  a  terrifying  sound  pierced  the 
summer  air  and  silenced  the  merry  young  voices  in 
the  orchard.  'Twas  a  sound  rarer  and  even  more 
uncanny  than  Silence's  laugh,  Silence's  cry. 

I  saw  Laurel  spring  up  directly  she  heard  it,  and, 
fleet-footed  as  any  hare,  run  up  the  slope  towards 
the  rough  roadway  across  the  heath  whence  we 
had  descended  to  the  farm.  Gabriel  and  Mistress 
Miriam  and  I  followed  in  the  same  direction ;  but 
by  the  time  we  had  gained  the  road  Laurel  had 
vanished,  and  we  hesitated  whether  to  turn  to  the 
right  or  the  left. 

'  If  'tis  the  horse-racing  you  want  to  see,'  said 
one  of  a  group  of  clowns  on  the  road,  '  yonder  is  the 
path.' 

We  moved  to  the  spot  that  he  indicated  with  a 
jerk  of  his  head,  and  on  a  level  sward,  at  the  foot  of 
a  declivity,  we  looked  down  on  a  scene  of  mid- 
summer madness. 

A  concourse  of  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen,  some 
mounted  on  spirited  horses,  others  on  foot,  attired 
a  la  campagne,  besides  a  swarm  of  rustics  of  both 


74  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

sexes,  were  gathered  together  to  watch  horses 
tearing  round  an  open  space.  From  the  outskirts 
of  this  medley  of  fantastically  habited  humankind 
Laurel  emerged,  Silence  clinging  to  her  arm,  appear- 
ing greatly  affrighted.  With  them  came  a  gallant 
protector,  whom  I  recognised  at  once  as  that  very 
pink  of  virtuous  chivalry  and  manly  beauty,  Richard 
Lovelace,  the  Cavalier  poet.  My  husband  had  once 
pointed  him  out  to  me  in  Hyde  Park  as  he  walked 
there  with  other  poets  and  wits,  such  as  Andrew 
Marvel  and  Sir  John  Suckling  to  boot.  Since  then 
he  had  been  imprisoned  in  the  Gate-house  at  West- 
minster, where  he  writ  the  lines, 

'  Stone  bars  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  walls  a  cage,' 

and  had  been  only  let  loose  on  a  promise  to  the  Parlia- 
ment that  he  would  fight  the  rebels  in  Ireland. 
Whether  he  had  failed  to  keep  this  promise,  or  was 
but  taking  the  sight  of  a  race  on  the  way  to  its 
performance,  I  know  not. 

'  Father,'  said  Laurel  quickly,  as  they  came  up  to 
us — '  father,  thank  this  gentleman  for  rescuing  Silence 
from  insult.  If  he  had  not  interfered  think  what 
would  have  happened :  those  churlish  wretches  there 
would  have  dared — ay,  dared  to  kiss  her !' 

Disgust  and  indignation  blazed  from  Laurel's 
brown  eyes.  Then,  as  she  turned  them  on  the 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  75 

beautiful  and  gallant  person  at  her  side,  they  softened, 
and  she  repeated  : 

'  Thank  this  gentleman,  father.  Go  down  on  your 
knees  and  thank  him.' 

'  No,  no,  sir,'  said  Captain  Lovelace.  '  Indeed, 
I  have  received  more  sweet  thanks  than  I  am 
deserving  of  already.  Is  it  not  sufficient  reward  in 
itself  to  be  given  the  chance  of  rendering  a  service  to 
fair  maidens  in  distress  ?  I  am  heartily  ashamed  to 
think  that  those  who  molested  your  daughter,  sir, 
were  not  clownish  ruffians,  but  so-called  gentlemen 
of  quality.  Their  only  poor  excuse  is  that  they  have 
quaffed  too  deeply  of  the  "  Spaniards' "  nut-brown 
ale.' 

'At  least,  if  I  may  not  thank  you,'  answered 
Gabriel,  '  let  me  hope  that  I  may  have  the  honour 
of  receiving  you  some  day  at  my  house  in  Chancery 
Lane,  the  Gray  House  over  against  the  gateway  of 
Lincoln's  Inn.' 

'  Then  you  are  Mr.  Young,  the  collector  of  rare 
books  !'  exclaimed  the  poet.  '  Verily  it  will  be  a 
pleasure  to  share  your  hospitality  with  many  illustrious 
friends  of  mine  who  I  know  have  been  privileged  to 
enjoy  it  often.  And  now  that  I  have  consigned  my 
pretty  charges  to  their  proper  guardians,  with  your 
permission  I  will  take  my  leave.' 

With  his"  hat  in  his  hand,  and  the  late  afternoon 


76  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

sunlight  shining  on  his  fair  hair,  he  bowed  and 
smiled  to  each  of  us  in  turn.  And  what  a  smile  and 
what  a  bow  were  his — unrivalled  in  courtly  charm 
and  grace  !  No  wonder  Peg  and  Prue,  who  now 
had  come  with  Mistress  Miriam  from  the  orchard  to 
learn  what  was  the  matter,  were  fairly  dazzled  by 
one  of  whom  it  hath  been  said  all  women  admire 
and  adore  him,  but  who  remains,  nevertheless, 
modest  and  unspoilt,  and  ever  constant  to  a  hope- 
less passion. 

As  he  withdrew,  a  little  posy  of  field-flowers,  tied 
by  a  ribbon,  fell  unnoticed  by  him  from  the  jewelled 
clasp  of  his  satin  doublet ;  it  was  a  badge  of  the 
rustic  pastime  in  which  he  was  taking  a  part.  It 
dropped  close  to  Laurel's  feet,  and  she  picked 
it  up  and  placed  it  within  the  folds  of  her  lace 
kerchief. 

Driving  home,  I  gathered  from  Laurel  more 
exactly  what  had  happened  to  Silence.  It  seemed 
she  had  started,  unseen  by  the  others,  with  the 
idea  of  exploring  the  woods  on  her  own  account, 
and  must  have  been  alarmed  when  she  had  found 
herself  coming  on  a  crowd.  'Twas  not  unnatural 
that  she  should  have  attracted  the  observation  of 
some  of  the  gay,  half-tipsy  gallants  hanging  about 
the  scene  of  the  chariot-race — so  fair  a  maid  as 
Silence,  walking  alone,  her  eyes  shining  like  great 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  77 

stars  out  of  a  face  near  as  white  as  her  dimity  kirtle, 
her  thick  hair  waving  round  her  head  like  a  halo. 
One  man  took  his  oath  that  here  was  a  wingless 
angel  descended  from  heaven ;  a  second  said  he 
would  not  lay  a  wager  on  it  till  he  had  heard  her 
speak,  and  came  forward  and  addressed  her  with 
impudent  assurance. 

Silence  making  no  reply,  convinced  the  first  that 
he  was  right.  She  was  truly  an  angel  and  did  not 
understand  the  language  of  earth,  said  he. 

'  Let  us  see  if  she  doth  understand  the  language  of 
kisses,'  said  a  third,  and  would  have  boldly  suited 
the  action  to  the  word,  when  Silence  gave  that  long- 
drawn,  ear-piercing  scream,  and  Richard  Lovelace 
had  bounded  forward,  with  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of 
his  sword,  and  cowed  Silence's  persecutors. 

*  They  had  skulked  off  by  the  time  I  got  to  her,' 
said  Laurel. 

'  And,  for  aught  we  know,  a  duel  may  come  of  it 
yet,,'  said  Prue. 

'  Don't  talk  of  such  dreadful  things !'  cried  Peg. 
'  A  duel !  It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it.  His 
loveliness  run  through  by  a  sword-thrust !'  Then 
foolish  Peg  leant  forward,  and  said  to  Laurel  in  a 
pleading  tone :  '  Could  you  spare  just  one  flower  out 
of  that  dear  nosegay  for  me  ?' 

Laurel  straightened  herself  proudly,  and,  unfasten- 


78  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

ing  the  flowers  from  her  bosom,  tossed  them  into 
Peg's  lap. 

'  I  can  well  spare  all,'  she  said,  with  her  lip 
a-curl. 

It  hurt  her  to  know  that  her  action  in  picking 
up  and  cherishing  the  faded  flowers  had  been 
observed. 

Now,  Peg  and  Prue  are  different.  They  were  not 
ashamed  to  divide  the  posy  betwixt  them,  and  to 
wrangle  openly  as  to  who  should  have  the  riband. 

'  You  have  that  big  poppy,  so  'tis  but  fair  I  should 
have  the  riband.' 

'  Tut !  I  am  the  elder,  so  it  falls  to  me  by  right.' 

My  severe  and  disapproving  looks  failed  to  quiet 
them  as  of  old ;  and  I  was  glad  that  Laurel  appeared 
to  be  indifferent  to  their  converse,  and  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  landscape  without. 

'Twas  as  if  we  were  descending  into  some  en- 
chanted vale,  and  great  London  were  a  city  of 
dreams.  The  dun-coloured  bricks  of  the  Tower,  the 
white  pinnacles  of  Paul's,  and  the  gray  stones  of 
Westminster,  were  now  alike  of  molten  gold  in  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  Beyond  the  winding  river, 
and  the  theatres  and  bear-pits  of  Southwark,  was  a 
misty  violet  line  of  hills,  like  those  we  were  leaving 
behind  us. 

And  at  this  minute,  whilst  I  write,  from  all  the 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  79 

heights  are  leaping  tongues  of  flame  from  the 
midsummer  fires.  I  have  drawn  back  the  curtains 
of  the  oriel  in  my  carnation  closet,  and  can  see  their 
glare  reddening  the  cloudless,  starless  sky  above 
Highgate  and  Hampstead  Mills. 

July  4. 

Sir  Oracle  came  home  from  his  bookseller's  in 
Paul's  Churchyard  this  forenoon  with  a  new  folio 
that  he  deems  priceless,  and  the  news  that  the 
Commons  have  appointed  my  Lord  Essex  General 
of  their  army.  Mr.  Hampden  and  Mr.  Holies  have 
been  made  colonels  in  foot  regiments,  and  one 
Cromwell  a  colonel  of  their  horse.  London  is  agog 
with  excitement,  and  the  people  are  decorated  with 
streamers  of  orange,  Lord  Essex's  colour. 

The  shopkeepers,  instead  of  crying  '  What  d'ye 
lack  ?'  at  their  doors,  are  polishing  muskets  and 
pikes,  and  have,  for  the  most  part,  shut  up  their 
shops.  The  only  business  that  hath  any  interest  for 
them  now  is  the  business  of  war  ! 

Hugh  says  that  Master  Haynes  has  promised  to 
take  back,  when  their  services  are  no  longer  required, 
those  of  his  prentices  who  have  enrolled  under 
Major-General  Skippon. 

'  Yet  he  would  be  loth  to  part  with  all,  methinks,' 
said  Hugh,  '  for  he  offers  to  give  a  prize  to  any 


8o  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

apprentice  who  is  able  in  his  private  hours  to  design 
and  carry  out  some  original  and  fantastic  device  for 
a  dial.' 

'  And  is  the  prize  to  be  his  daughter,  Mistress 
Margaret  ?'  asked  Laurel,  in  that  roguish  manner 
she  doth  now  adopt  towards  her  foster-brother. 

'  He  did  not  say  'twould  be  a  human  prize,'  Hugh 
replied,  without  smiling. 

He  crossed  the  room  to  the  window  where  Silence 
sat  broidering  on  her  sampler,  wrapt  in  her  silent 
world  of  pictures. 

She  is  at  times  oblivious  of  even  Hugh's  beloved 
presence,  so  engrossed  does  she  become  in  her  work, 
and  she  had  only  laid  down  her  needle  for  a  moment 
to  greet  him  when  he  came  in  unexpectedly  just 
now. 

The  youth,  methinks,  is  much  torn  'twixt  his 
devotion  to  his  craft  and  the  contagion  for  soldiering 
that  hath  spread  among  his  confreres  and  through- 
out London.  For,  despite  his  crooked  shoulders, 
he  is  not  lacking  in  a  boy's  fine  courage  and  spirit, 
as  hath  been  long  ago  proven. 

Then  Laurel  related  to  him  the  story  of  Silence's 
adventure  at  Hampstead  Mills.  He  clenched  his 
fists,  and  there  was  a  fierce  glow  in  his  red-brown 
eyes. 

'  Would  I  had  been  there  to  defend  her,'  said  he, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  81 

*  and  to  serve  those  rascally  villains  as  I  served  the 
wolf  at  Blois !' 

'  Ah  !  but  she  had  a  defender,'  Laurel  said — '  a  true 
Red  Cross  Knight  methinks,  and  most  gallant ;  so 
tall,  and  fair,  and  perfect  in  face  and  form — and  in 
soul  too,  111  warrant.' 

Hugh  winced  as  if  he  had  been  struck,  and 
Laurel,  quick  to  see  the  effect  of  her  careless  words, 
was  on  the  instant  full  of  repentance.  She  ran  to 
him,  and,  laying  her  hand  caressingly  in  his,  added 
eagerly : 

'  But  not  so  brave  as  one  I  wot  of — not  near  so 
brave ;  for  that  were  impossible,  Red  Cross  Knight 
or  no.  Come,  Hugh !  Come  and  read  to  me 
beneath  the  trees,  as  you  were  wont  to  do  at  Blois. 
See,  here  is  "  Aucassin  and  Nicolette."  She  drew  a 
tiny  duodecimo  of  Elzevir  print,  tied  with  lilac 
strings,  from  her  apron  pocket.  '  If  we  go  and  sit 
on  that  bench  near  the  window,  where  Silence 
can  see  us  should  she  look  up,  she  will  not 
mind.' 

So  the  two  went  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  seated 
themselves  on  the  bench,  and  both  pairs  of  brown 
eyes  were  bent  on  the  same  small  page.  The  July 
zephyrs  gently  stirred  the  branches  above  their 
heads,  and  set  the  leaves  a-rustling,  and  their 
shadows  danced  and  quivered  on  the  paved  path  at 

6 


82  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

their  feet,  where  the  drowsy  spaniels  lay  rolled  up 
like  balls  of  silk. 

'Twas  a  blissful  hour  for  Hugh,  I  doubt  not, 
Laurel,  by  her  sweetness,  having  soon  healed, 
apparently,  the  wound  she  had  inflicted.  After  he 
had  read  some  time,  'twas  Laurel's  turn  to  sing,  and 
her  clear,  rich-toned  voice  awoke  the  echoes  of 
Chancery  Lane,  as  she  did  trill  forth  that  wailing, 
piteous  ballad  of  the  North  that  she  is  always 
singing,  so  that,  methinks,  I  know  it  by  heart,  and 
can  write  it  here  from  memory : 

'  My  love  he  built  me  a  bonny  bower, 
And  clad  it  all  with  lily  flower  ; 
A  braver  bower  ye  ne'er  did  see 
Than  my  true  love  he  built  for  me. 

1  They  slew  my  knight  to  me  sae  dear — 
They  slew  my  knight  and  pained  me  gear  ; 
My  servants  all  for  life  did  flee, 
And  left  me  in  extremitie. 

'  I  sewed  his  sheet,  making  my  mane, 
I  watched  the  corpse  myself  alane  ; 
I  watched  his  body  night  and  day, 
No  living  creature  came  that  way. 

'  I  took  his  body  on  my  back, 
And  while  I  went,  and  while  I  sat, 
I  digged  a  grave  and  laid  him  in, 
And  happed  him  with  the  sod  sae  green. 

'  But  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  sair 
When  I  laid  the  mould  upon  his  hair  ; 
Oh,  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  wae 
When  I  turned  about  away  to  gae.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  83 

The  last  notes  of  Laurel's  song  were  still  trembling 
on  the  air  when,  looking  forth  from  my  coign  of 
vantage,  the  window  of  the  library,  I  observed  the 
handsome  face  of  a  red-haired  man  of  middle  age, 
pale  and  worn,  and,  methought,  full  of  traces  of  ill 
living,  raised  above  the  wall  of  the  neighbouring 
garden  to  ours.  The  man  had  been  attracted,  I 
suppose,  to  survey  thus  rudely  other  people's 
domains  by  Laurel's  voice.  He  disappeared  on  the 
opening  of  the  postern  in  the  covered  wall  opposite, 
through  which  Gabriel  came  from  the  street  in 
company  of  two  gentlemen,  and  I  have  thought  no 
more  of  that  face  looking  over  the  wall  till  now. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  with  Gabriel  was  no  other 
than  Captain  Lovelace.  As  they  drew  near  the 
bench,  Laurel  sprang  up,  and  Hugh  must  needs  do 
likewise.  Poor  boy !  Never,  thought  I,  would  he 
have  felt  more  keenly  alive  to  his  own  undersized 
and  uneven  growth  than  at  the  moment  when  cruel 
chance  threw  him  into  such  close  proximity  with 
that  '  perfect  form  '  of  which  Laurel  had  spoken  so 
admiringly. 

The  incarnation  of  elegance  and  strength  and 
unaffected  grace  was  Captain  Lovelace  as  he  stood 
there  and  doffed  his  hat,  with  its  roseate  plumes,  the 
blue  of  his  silver-laced  coat  reflected  in  his  frank  and 
smiling  eyes. 

6—2 


84  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

The  music  of  his  speech  came  to  my  ears  through 
the  open  lattice,  but  at  that  distance  I  could  not  dis- 
tinguish his  words.  I  held  my  breath  to  see  how  Hugh 
would  carry  himself.  He  hung  his  head  (which  he 
need  not  have  done,  methought,  for  it  hath  a  rare 
dignity  and  character  of  its  own,  even  though  it  be 
shorn  of  its  ruddy  glory),  and,  murmuring  some 
civility,  he  turned  to  examine  a  shrub  in  the  border. 

'Twas  one  of  the  rosemary  bushes  my  step- 
children had  transplanted  from  Blois.  In  the  air  of 
Chancery  Lane  it  refuses  to  thrive,  and  there,  amid 
the  sturdy  lilac  bushes  and  tall  sunflowers,  it  doth 
languish  stunted  and  leafless. 

Silence,  aweary  of  her  cramped  position  at  last, 
stood  up,  stretched  herself,  scattering  her  silks  and 
crewels  about  the  floor  for  Miriam  Fisher  to  pick 
up  and  put  away,  and  rushed  like  a  whirlwind  to  the 
garden. 

The  splendid  figure  in  blue  and  silver  was  not  the 
magnet  which  drew  her  thither,  for,  without  seeming 
to  recognise  her  recent  benefactor,  she  passed  him 
by,  and  went,  straight  as  an  arrow  from  a  bow,  to 
Hugh's  side.  Her  great  eyes  for  a  moment  search- 
ingly  swept  his  face,  then,  as  if  discerning  some 
need  of  comfort  there,  she  threw  her  arm  about 
Hugh's  neck,  and  bent  her  head,  with  his,  over  the 
dying  shrub. 


V 

August  31,  1642. 

WE  dwellers  in  London  town,  which  the  Parliament 
doth  boast  is  the  'very  heart  and  soul  of  their  cause,' 
have  been  so  accustomed  to  warlike  preparations, 
the  sound  of  martial  music,  and  the  sight  of  men  at 
drill  in  every  open  space  around  the  city,  that  the 
King's  declaration  of  war  comes  scarce  as  a  shock, 
but  rather  as  something  long  expected. 

His  Majesty  planted  the  Royal  Standard  on  a  hill 
near  Nottingham  more  than  a  week  agone,  and 
Lord  Essex  is  preparing  to  set  out  with  his  troops 
for  Northampton.  The  news  of  a  battle  being  fought 
may  now  come  any  day. 

'  And  father  sits  quietly  there  with  his  musty  tomes 
and  papers,  as  if  the  battles  fought  by  Greeks  and 
Trojans  thousands  of  years  ago  were  of  more 
import  to  him,'  Laurel  said  this  morning.  '  If  I 
were  a  man,  even  an  old  man,  methinks  I  would 
be  up  and  doing  for  the  King.' 

[85  J 


86  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  Not  if  it  were  against  your  conscience,'  I  said. 

'  Conscience !  If  conscience,  forsooth,  means 
seeing  the  righteousness  of  both  sides,  I  have  none. 
Both  sides  cannot  be  right,  say  I.' 

Laurel  is  but  a  child  to  hold  such  strong  convic- 
tions. I  scarce  know  how  she  has  gotten  them, 
unless  it  be  through  drawing  her  own  conclusions 
from  the  arguments  she  has  listened  to  at  her 
father's  table. 

Gabriel  takes  so  great  a  pride  in  Laurel's  singing 
and  dancing  that  to  hear  her  sing  a  roundel,  or  to 
watch  her  dance  a  slow  and  stately  pavan  or  a  lively 
galliard,  is  often  a  part  of  the  entertainment  which 
he  provides  for  his  guests. 

If  she  were  inclined  to  vanity,  methinks  'twould 
not  be  wise  to  bring  her  forward  thus  ;  but  Laurel  is 
not  vain,  and  has  no  eyes  as  yet  for  her  own  young 
charms.  She  is  proud  of  Silence's  curious  moon- 
light beauty,  and  declares  that  none  of  the  fine 
ladies  she  hath  seen  at  the  playhouse,  or  at  the 
private  masque  to  which  we  were  bidden  a  short 
time  since  in  Spring  Garden,  are  worthy  to  hold  a 
candle  to  Silence  for  fairness.  But  then  she  has  not 
seen  the  Court  belles,  most  of  whom  are  now  with 
the  Queen  at  Oxford.  Lady  Carlisle  tarries  yet  in 
London,  intriguing,  'tis  said,  in  the  Parliament's 
cause.  Once  so  famed  for  her  friendship  with  the 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  87 

great  Lord  Strafford,  she  long  ago  transferred  it  to 
Mr.  Pym.  She  hath  lost  much  of  her  beauteous 
looks  of  late,  Mr.  Waller  says,  and  he  no  longer 
feels  inspired  to  write  odes  to  her. 

When  they  came  from  Blois,  Silence's  and  Laurel's 
wardrobe  was  but  scantily  furnished,  and  Gabriel 
said  he  wished  it  replenished  with  all  the  bravery 
befitting  their  position.  Neither  seemed  to  be  the 
least  sick  for  new  clothes,  as  Peg  and  Prue  often  are, 
and  'twas  difficult  to  get  Laurel  to  take  any  interest 
in  the  choice  of  brocades  and  velvets  and  the  match- 
ing of  riband  knots  and  laces.  She  scarce  glanced 
at  herself  in  the  mirror  when  arrayed  for  Spring 
Garden  in  her  new  purple  paduasoy  suit,  with  deep 
Flemish  point  collar  and  a  waistcoat  of  aurora  satin 
wrought  with  acorns  in  gold  thread,  in  which  she 
looks  very  fine  and  pretty.  A  string  of  rare  pearls 
that  Gabriel  gave  her  she  will  not  wear,  vowing  she 
is  too  brown  for  pearls. 

'  I  am  for  all  the  world  as  brown  as  the  gipsies,' 
said  she  one  day  in  the  still-room,  when  I  was  teach- 
ing her  to  distil  rose-leaves  for  rose-water.  '  Have 
you  no  recipe,  mother,  for  an  unguent  or  wash  that 
will  make  me  pink  and  white  like  Mistress  Margaret 
Haynes  ?' 

Her  brownness  is  a  distress  to  her  when  she  gives 
any  thought  to  her  appearance  at  all,  but  methinks 


88  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'twill  not  be  long  ere  Laurel  learns  that  a  nut-brown 
maid  may  be  every  whit  as  much  admired  as  a  pink 
and  white  one. 

Already  Gabriel  has  had  letters  from  acquaintances 
among  the  country  gentry  craving  leave  to  bring 
their  sons  to  call,  with  a  view  to  treating  for  Laurel's 
hand.  For  it  hath  got  wind  that  Gabriel's  daughters 
are  something  of  heiresses,  and  marrying  and  giving 
in  marriage  goes  on  merrily  even  in  these  disturbed 
and  uncertain  times.  Sir  Oracle  says  he  would 
liefer  that  Silence  remain  ever  unwed,  but  that  he 
will  marry  Laurel  at  a  fitting  age  to  a  fitting  suitor. 
Laurel,  belike,  will  have  some  say  in  the  matter,  and 
a  mind  of  her  own  as  to  who  be  a  fitting  suitor,  for 
'tis  certain  she  is  unlike  other  maidens. 

September  2. 

Yesterday  morning  we  went  to  welcome  to  town 
my  husband's  kinsman,  Sir  John  Harrison,  on  his 
return  from  Balls,  in  Hertfordshire,  with  his  daughters 
Anne  and  Margaret  to  their  winter  quarters  in 
Bishopsgate.  We  found  that  they  had  gone  forth  to 
visit  my  Lady  Wolstenholme  in  Crutched  Friars,  so 
Gabriel  left  me  to  go  home  with  the  servant  whilst 
he  called  on  Sir  Paul  Pindar  in  that  wondrous 
carven  house  whose  gables  jut  far  over  the  street 
close  by  the  Harrisons'  present  lodgings. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  89 

A  great  commotion  reigned  in  the  streets,  for, 
besides  the  ballad-mongers  bawling  their  ballads  as 
usual  and  the  fruit-sellers  their  wares,  and  bear- 
wards,  jugglers,  and  mountebanks  adding  to  the  din, 
there  came  from  the  summit  of  the  city  walls  the 
sound  of  mallets  and  chisels.  An  army  of  masons 
are  at  work  there  daily  in  obedience  to  the  orders  of 
Puritan  Lord  Mayor  Pennington,  who  has  decreed 
that  the  ancient  gray  bastions  shall  be  made  stronger. 
Mighty  and  impregnable  those  bastions  seemed  to 
me  when,  as  a  child,  I  went  to  gather  groundsel 
for  my  canaries,  and  little  ferns  and  stone-crop  from 
their  niches  by  Cripplegate.  I  felt  proud  to  live 
within  so  safe  a  girdle ;  and  strong  enough  had  they 
been,  in  truth,  to  guard  London  against  her  enemies 
in  the  time  of  Norman,  Plantagenet,  and  Tudor 
monarchs.  But  now  that  London  doth  hold  the 
King,  Charles  Stuart  to  be  her  enemy,  the  poor  city 
wall,  despite  its  stout  service  in  the  past,  must  be 
strengthened  withal  to  check  His  Majesty's  advance 
on  his  own  capital. 

Passing  by  palatial  Crosby  Hall,  the  background 
of  Master  Shakespeare's  history  of  '  Richard  III.,'  I 
must  needs  fall  to  thinking  of  other  times  than  these, 
despite  the  bustle  around  :  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  one 
of  the  favourites  of  our  history-book,  who  lived  under 
the  grand  roof  of  Crosby  Hall  for  three  years,  when 


90  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

he  sold  it  to  '  his  entire  dear  friend  '  Antonio  Bon- 
vici,  a  merchant  of  Lucca,  to  whom  he  writ  from  the 
Tower  a  letter  in  charcoal  the  night  before  his  head 
rolled  from  the  block ;  and  of  that  richest  and  most 
magnificent  Mayor,  Sir  John  Spencer,  holding  high 
revel  within  its  walls,  for  Queen  Bess  and  so  noble 
a  company  of  courtiers  and  merchant-adventurers 
as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Edmund 
Spenser,  and  Drake  and  Hawkins.  I  pictured  the 
virgin  Queen,  with  hook-nose  and  brick-coloured 
hair,  like  her  horrible  wax  effigy  that  I  have  seen 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  in  her  wide  jewel-studded 
farthingale  and  monstrous  ruff,  and  red  heels  to  her 
shoes,  being  received  with  ceremony  and  marshalled 
through  the  lofty  Gothic  doorway,  showing  her  black 
teeth  in  coquettish  smiles  at  the  stream  of  compli- 
ments and  flattery  that  had  ever  to  be  kept  flowing 
to  pleasure  her  vanity,  lest  the  smiles  should  turn 
to  scowls.  'Twas  hard,  methought,  for  poets  like 
Spenser  and  Sidney  to  have  been  bound  to  waste 
their  muse  in  singing  so  perpetually  the  praises  and 
non-existent  charms  of  their  great  Gloriana. 

My  wandering  thoughts  were  recalled  abruptly  to 
the  present  by  being  hailed  by  a  youth  who  came  up 
to  me  with  a  brisk  and  easy-going  Cavalier  air.  I 
could  scarce  believe  my  eyes,  for  'twas  my  brother 
Roger,  whom  I  thought  to  be  far  away  beneath 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  91 

Eastern  skies  bargaining  for  silks  for  his  master  with 
turbaned  Turks  and  Arabs.  Had  he  been  recalled 
by  the  merchant,  his  apprenticeship  to  whom  had 
cost  my  father  a  sum  scraped  together  with  diffi- 
culty ?  If  so,  why  had  he  writ  no  word  to  warn 
them  in  Hart  Street  of  his  coming  ?  I  was  for  a 
moment  speechless  with  surprise  and  misgiving. 

'  Well,  you  do  not  seem  rejoiced  to  see  me,  my 
Lovejoy,'  said  he.  '  No  cry  of  joy  at  thus  happening 
on  your  devoted  and  affectionate  brother  all  un- 
awares. But  I  am  used  by  this  time  to  frosty  wel- 
comes. My  father  hath  not  exactly  fallen  on  my 
neck  ;  I  disturbed  him,  I  fear,  in  the  composition 
of  a  motet,  and  Peg  declined  to  kill  the  fatted  calf. 
Prue  scarce  paused  to  greet  me  in  her  wrestles 
with  that  intricate  fantasy  of  Dr.  John  Bull's  with 
thirty  variations  that  she  was  at  when  I  went  away, 
and  the  rest  all  did  look  at  me  as  if  they  would 
ask,  What's  brought  you  hither?' 

'  A  natural  question  enough,  Roger,'  I  said,  '  how- 
ever glad  one  may  be  to  see  you.' 

'  You  think  so  ?  Come,  then,  dismiss  the  servant, 
and  I  will  be  your  escort,  and  gratify  your  curiosity  in 
St.  Helen's  Churchyard.  We  cannot  stand  a-talking 
here  in  the  open  street,  being  jostled  and  rubbed  by 
the  passers-by.' 

As  he  said  this  two  'prentice  boys  jogged  Roger's 


92  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

elbow  as  they  went  past,  glancing  with  suspicious 
contempt  at  the  gold  lace  on  his  slashed  sleeve.  I 
thought  with  a  pang  of  Roger's  outfit — the  holland 
nightcaps  and  shirts  which  I  and  Penelope  had  near 
worked  our  fingers  to  the  bone  over.  He  could  never 
have  worn  half  of  them  out,  and  had  perhaps  sold 
them  to  purchase  the  suit  of  fine  clothes  he 
had  on. 

I  went  with  Roger  beneath  the  low  gateway  of 
corbelled  timber  that  leads  out  of  the  busy  hum  of 
Bishopsgate  into  the  shady  calm  of  Great  St.  Helen's. 
We  sat  down  under  the  wide-spreading  trees  in  the 
peaceful  old  graveyard,  where  lie  bones  of  many 
famous  Londoners. 

'  How  delicious  cool  'tis  here  after  the  tropical 
countries  that  I've  been  in,'  said  Roger  with  a  con- 
tented whistle.  '  Nay,  Lovejoy ;  the  truth  is,  I  am 
not  cut  out  for  trading  in  silken  stuffs  under  skies 
of  brass,  nor  for  trading  at  all,  for  that  matter,  so  I 
have  given  up  the  whole  business.' 

'  You  might  have  thought  whether  or  no  you  were 
cut  out  for  trade  ere  you  put  father  to  so  heavy  an 
expense,'  I  answered.  '  'Tis  very  ill  conduct,  me- 
thinks,  to  give  up  your  apprenticeship  so  of  a  sudden 
without  consulting  anyone.' 

'  I  hardly  knew  on  leaving  Paul's  what  I  had  a 
mind  for.  But  now  that  there's  war  in  the  country, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  93 

and  you  have  made  a  rich  match,  I  have  a  strong 
mind  to  be  a  soldier.  Will  you  ask  your  husband  to 
use  his  influence  to  obtain  for  me  a  captaincy  in  a 
Royalist  regiment  ?' 

I  was  fairly  taken  breathless  by  Roger's  cool 
effrontery.  He  was  ever  a  saucy  and  troublesome 
boy,  and  a  care  to  my  father,  whom  I  have  heard  say 
that,  though  Roger  was  older  than  me,  he  could  go 
away  and  trust  his  eldest  daughter  with  his  house 
and  family,  but  his  eldest  son  he  could  scarce  trust 
out  of  his  sight.  But  'twas  supposed  Roger  had 
mended  his  ways  and  grown  steady  when  he  was 
bound  apprentice  to  a  mercer  under  the  Exchange, 
and  he  went  abroad  full  of  fine  promises.  Yet  here 
he  is  back  again,  like  a  bad  penny,  his  air  more 
boastful  and  full  of  swagger  than  of  old ;  and  he  dares 
to  claim  favours  from  Gabriel  through  me  as  if  by 
right. 

'  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  crave  my  husband's 
charity  on  your  behalf,'  I  answered.  '  He  hath 
promised  already  to  bear  the  expense  of  Will's 
studies  at  Oxford  when  he's  finished  his  schooling, 
and  he  knows  Will  to  be  deserving,  so  that  his 
kindness  is  likely  to  be  well  repaid.' 

*  So  you  would  rather  your  husband's  money  made 
a  pedant  of  Will  than  an  officer  of  me  ?  Welladay, 
if  you  won't  intercede  for  me,  I  must  fall  back  on 


94  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

my  godmother,  the  Widow  Travers,'  said  Roger, 
and  again  he  whistled  jauntily. 

'  Methinks  you  will  go  to  the  wrong  quarter  if  you 
apply  to  Dame  Travers  for  a  captaincy  of  Cavalier 
horse.  She  shares  the  populace's  passion,  'twould 
seem,  for  the  Parliament's  cause,  and  has  been 
laying  her  jewels  and  money-bags  on  the  floor  of 
the  Guildhall.' 

'  Is  that  the  way  the  wind  blows  ?  I  thank  you 
for  telling  me,  Lovejoy.  I  cannot  afford  to  dis- 
agree with  my  godmother,  and  so,  maybe,  shall 
find  it  more  discreet  to  fight,  after  all,  for  the 
other  side ;  but  to  fight  for  one  or  t'other  I  am 
determined.' 

I  thought  he  spoke  in  this  flippant  and  un- 
principled tone  to  shock  me,  and  so,  making  no 
reply  to  his  last  speech,  I  rose,  and  said  'twas  time 
for  me  to  be  on  the  homeward  way,  and  if  he  would 
come  to  dine  at  my  house  he  was  welcome.  He 
answered  that  he  had  appointed  to  dine  at  an 
ordinary  with  an  acquaintance,  but  would  first  see 
me  to  my  door. 

At  the  top  of  Chancery  Lane,  Laurel  and  Silence, 
going  home  from  an  airing  with  their  gentlewoman, 
followed  by  Juan,  the  Spanish  footboy,  crossed  the 
street  in  front  of  us. 

'  Those  are  my  daughters,'  said  I. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  95 

'  A  pretty  pair,  like  a  York  and  Lancaster  rose,' 
Roger  said.  '  Methinks  'tis  the  pale  rose  pleases  me 
most.  Is  it  she  who  is  deaf  and  dumb  ?  Yes  ? 
Well,  I  am  not  so  sure  that  'tisn't  a  blessing  in 
the  guise  of  an  affliction.  She  can  never  scold  her 
husband,  or  sing  out  of  tune,  and  she  seems  to 
listen  with  her  eyes,  that  gives  'em  a  mighty  pretty 
look.' 

Roger  would  have  it  that  he  regretted  his  appoint- 
ment at  the  ordinary,  which  would  delay  his  being 
presented  to  his  fair  step-nieces,  as  he  chooses  to 
dub  them.  He  hoped  'twas  only  a  pleasure  deferred 
till  the  morrow,  as,  with  blithe  insouciance,  he 
doffed  his  cap  and  took  leave  of  me,  bearing,  it 
would  seem,  no  grudge  for  my  sisterly  plainness  of 
speech. 

I  turned  my  head  for  a  moment  before  going  in, 
to  watch  him  step  airily  down  the  street,  and  I 
marvelled  much  at  his  self-assurance,  and  thought  of 
what  a  fresh  source  of  anxiety  his  unexpected 
reappearance  in  the  family  would  be  to  my  father. 
Then  my  eye  fell  on  a  face,  regular  of  feature, 
cadaverous  of  hue,  framed  in  red  hair,  that  came  out 
into  the  September  sunlight  from  the  dark  shadows 
cast  by  the  great  gateway  of  Lincoln's  Inn.  'Twas 
the  face  which  had  looked  over  the  wall  the  day 
Laurel  had  sung  to  Hugh  in  the  garden. 


96  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

November  7. 

The  expected  great  battle  was  fought  at  Edgehill, 
in  Warwickshire,  on  October  24.  Both  sides  have 
taken  the  honour  of  victory  to  themselves,  but  of 
5,000  slain  most  fell  on  the  King's  side. 

After  the  fight,  the  King  marched  to  Oxford, 
where  he  intends  to  quarter  for  the  winter ;  and  his 
General  of  the  Horse,  Prince  Rupert,  is  making 
such  bold  excursions  therefrom,  and  sallies  so  far 
out,  that  the  City  of  London  is  in  a  panic,  and  the 
Lord  General  Essex,  instead  of  following  the  King, 
has  come  back  to  Westminster,  quartering  his  forces 
in  the  villages  around. 

My  brother  Roger's  war  fever  was  so  inflamed 
when  'twas  known  for  certain  a  battle  was  to  be 
fought  that  he  did  go  off  and  enlist  precipitately  in 
the  King's  army,  forgetful  of  that  prudent  regard  for 
his  godmother's  sympathies  which  he  spoke  of  to  me. 
He  hath  writ  since  to  Hart  Street  an  account  of  the 
fray,  and  his  share  in  it — very  glorious,  according  to 
his  own  account.  And  now  he  is  a  full-blown  hero 
in  Peg  and  Prue's  eyes,  and,  belike,  in  Laurel's  too. 
But  I  cannot  easily  forget  his  breach  of  contract  with 
his  master,  and  the  heavy  trial  it  has  been  to  my  father, 
who,  only  through  personal  friendship  with  the 
merchant,  has  prevailed  on  him  not  to  let  the  law 
punish  Roger  for  breaking  his  indentures.  Out  of 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  97 

consideration  and  regard  for  my  father,  this  mer- 
chant will  even  allow  Tim  to  take  up  Roger's 
apprenticeship  when  he  leaves  school  next  year. 

At  present  Tim  spends  most  of  his  time  out  of 
school  hours  toiling,  with  an  orange  cockade  in  his 
hat,  on  the  new  earthworks,  that  grow  and  grow, 
and  are  designed  to  encircle  Westminster  and  the 
suburbs  as  far  as  Shoreditch  on  the  north  and 
St.  George's  Fields  on  the  south.  East  and  west 
the  fortifications  are  to  stretch  from  Hyde  Park  to 
Mile  End  and  the  Lea. 

Mr.  Waller,  who  comes  often  to  smoke  a  pipe  ot 
tobacco  with  Gabriel,  told  us  of  the  great  honour  he 
had  seen  paid  by  both  Houses  to-day  to  Lord  Essex, 
who,  in  reward  for  his  'pains  and  valour,'  was 
presented  with  £5,000.  Though  still  holding  his 
seat  in  the  rebellious  House  of  Commons,  Mr.  Waller 
is  suffered  to  speak  of  its  proceedings  with  great 
sharpness  and  freedom. 

'  In  spite  of  all  the  clanking  of  steel  and  building 
of  forts/  said  he,  '  the  City  is  shaking  in  its  shoes, 
and  the  Parliament  meditate  sending  a  commission 
to  treat  with  His  Majesty  for  peace.  I,  for  one, 
would  be  their  willing  servant  on  such  an  errand.' 

Laurel,  who  held  her  lute  in  her  lap,  for  she  had 
not  long  before  been  singing  '  Go,  Lovely  Rose,'  to  the 
author's  delighted  satisfaction,  looked  up,  and  said : 

7 


98  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  Why  do  you  hold  with  the  Parliament,  sir,  when 
at  heart  you  love  the  King  ?' 

Methought  Mr.  Waller  gave  a  slight  start,  and 
he  elevated  his  fine  eyebrows  till  they  near  touched 
the  frizzed  light-brown  hair  that  crowns  his  high 
forehead,  and  falls  on  either  side  of  his  oval,  olive- 
skinned  face. 

'  Dear  young  lady,  are  you  a  reader  of  hearts  as 
well  as  a  nightingale  ?'  he  said.  Then  added : 
'  Tis  possible  to  love  the  King,  and  yet  not  to  be 
blind  to  his  faults,  and  the  evil  they  have  done  the 
kingdom.' 

'  But  the  King  can  do  no  wrong  P  Laurel  made 
retort,  with  heightened  colour. 

'  So  Mistress  Laurel  has  imbibed  the  doctrines  of 
Mr.  Hobbes,'  laughed  the  poet  to  Gabriel. 

'  She  expresses  herself  overboldly,  I  fear,'  her 
father  said. 

'  Nay.  To  misquote  Master  Shakespeare,  she 
does  but  talk  as  familiarly  of  politics  as  most  maids 
of  thirteen  do  of  puppy-dogs.' 

'  And,  if  it  please  you,  I  am  fourteen,'  said  Laurel. 

'  A  great  age,  certainly,'  Mr.  Waller  replied, 
'  though  I  should  have  thought  you  more.' 

And,  indeed,  Laurel  has  the  stature  and  carriage 
of  an  older  maiden,  if  in  some  ways  she  is  younger 
than  her  years. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  99 

When  Mr.  Waller  invited  her  to  sing  another  of 
his  Sacharissa  lyrics,  and  said,  with  polished  courtesy, 
that  to  be  sung  by  her  did  add  another  laurel  to  his 
poor  bays,  she  accepted  the  compliment  with  the 
unblushing  innocence  of  a  child. 

November  9. 

Days  are  now  set  apart,  by  order  of  those  in 
power,  for  prayer  and  fasting,  and  this  day  being  so 
observed,  and  no  shops  opened  on  that  account, 
Gabriel  and  I  went,  at  noon,  to  Cheapside,  and 
begged  Master  Haynes's  leave  to  bring  Hugh  home 
with  us  to  stay  till  nightfall. 

A  servant  admitted  us,  and  led  us  through  the 
deserted  shop  upstairs  to  the  spacious  parlour,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  Master  Haynes  came  down  from 
his  private  laboratory  at  the  top  of  the  house.  His 
spectacles  were  pushed  back  on  his  forehead,  and 
his  eyes  shone  piercingly  from  his  wan  face.  The 
straggling  hair  beneath  his  scarlet  skull-cap  was 
more  dishevelled  than  ever.  He  looked  as  if  he  had 
spent  the  night  in  sleepless  communing  with  the 
stars. 

'  He  is  not  here,'  Master  Haynes  said.  '  Your 
foster-son  is  gone  forth  with  the  rest  and  my 
daughter  to  where  all  the  world  and  his  wife  are 
flocking  to-day  to  hear  stirring  words.  You  will 

7—2 


ioo  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

find  him  at  the  Guildhall.'  Then,  as  we  turned  to 
go,  he  added :  '  I  can  speak  well  of  him.  The  lad 
teems  with  inventiveness,  but  he  curbs  his  ingenuity 
in  order  to  ground  himself  in  the  rudiments  of  his 
craft.  That  is  the  secret  of  all  sure  climbing,  and 
'tis  not  too  early  to  prophesy,  perhaps,  that  your 
foster-son  will  climb  high  in  the  dialler's  art.  His 
maternal  relations,  with  whom  I  have  a  distant 
kinship,  will  one  day,  methinks,  have  reason  to 
claim  him  with  pride." 

Gabriel  said,  when  we  were  in  the  street  again, 
that  'twas  pleasant  to  hear  so  good  an  account  of 
Hugh  from  Master  Haynes.  Yet  I  have  a  fancy 
that  'tis  an  effort  to  him  to  take  a  fatherly  interest  in 
Hugh,  although  he  has  so  generously  performed  a 
father's  duties  towards  him.  Why  I  cannot  tell,  for 
Hugh  is  all  a  grateful  and  respectful  son  should  be. 

What  a  scene  it  was  we  saw  as  we  came  near  the 
Guildhall !  In  the  face  of  such  scenes  all  thoughts 
of  peace  seem  idle,  despite  the  King  having  declared 
he  is  grieved  for  his  people's  sufferings,  and  having 
consented  to  receive  the  Parliament's  propositions. 

In  the  gray,  chill  November  mist  that  had  crept 
up  from  the  river,  and  hung  like  a  veil  over 
pinnacle  and  buttress,  a  tall,  gaunt  figure  stood  on 
the  steps  of  the  Guildhall,  speaking  impassioned 
words  to  a  crowd  of  eager  listeners.  'Twas  Lord 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  101 

Brooke,  a  General  of  the  Parliamentary  forces,  who 
had  fought  at  Edgehill,  the  most  rigid  of  Puritans, 
for  all  his  noble  lineage,  and  unbending  of  the  King's 
foes.  He  was  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  purple,  with 
a  burnished  breastplate  of  silver.  Far  as  my 
sympathies  were  from  him,  I  could  but  feel,  despite 
myself,  a  thrill  at  what  he  spake : 

'  Citizens  of  London,  you  must  not  think  to  fight 
in  the  sighs  of  your  wives  and  children.  Therefore, 
when  you  hear  the  drums  beat,  say  not,  I  beseech 
you,  "  I  am  not  of  the  trained  band,"  nor  this,  nor 
that,  nor  the  other,  but  doubt  not  to  go  out  to  the 
work,  and  this  shall  be  the  day  of  your  deliverance. 
What  is  it  we  fight  for  ?  It  is  for  our  religion,  and 
for  our  God,  and  for  our  liberty,  and  all.  And  what 
is  it  they  fight  for  ?  For  their  lusts,  for  their  wills, 
and  for  their  tyranny;  to  make  us  slaves,  and  to 
overthrow  all.  Gentlemen,  methinks  I  see  your 
courage  in  your  faces.  .  .  .' 

Deeply  stirred,  some  in  the  breathless,  listening 
throng  spoke  forth,  nigh  sobbing : 

'  Ay,  we  have  the  courage  and  the  resolution. 
We'll  go  out  to-morrow.' 

The  General  ceased,  and  as  the  people  began  to 
disperse,  I  saw  Hugh  standing,  his  red  head  bared, 
with  Mistress  Margaret,  in  a  sober  dove-coloured 
cloak  and  hood,  beside  him. 


102  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

I  went  to  him,  and  said  that  his  master  would 
give  him  leave  to  come  with  us  to  the  Gray  House 
and  spend  the  day  with  Laurel  and  Silence. 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  answered : 

'  It  will  greatly  pleasure  me  to  come,  but  first  I 
must  see  Mistress  Margaret  safely  home.' 

The  pink  cheeks  under  the  dove-coloured  hood 
grew  pinker. 

'  Do  not  come,  Hugh  1'Estrange,'  the  Puritan 
maiden  said.  '  I  need  no  escort  for  so  small  a 
distance.' 

But  when  she  made  as  if  she  would  trip  off  alone, 
Hugh  followed  her. 

It  struck  me  then  that  Hugh  is  highly  favoured  by 
Master  Haynes  to  be  the  one  chosen  out  of  his  large 
number  of  prentices  to  act  as  his  daughter's  escort, 
or  is  it  that  Mistress  Margaret  herself  doth  prefer 
Hugh  to  any  of  her  old  admirers  ? 

November  30. 

Whilst  peace  was  still  being  talked  of,  the  King's 
artillery  fell  on  the  Parliament's  forces  at  Brentford, 
and  again  there  was  a  great  and  bloody  fight,  and, 
as  at  Edgehill,  both  sides  reported  themselves 
conquerors.  The  thunder  of  the  cannon  awoke  us 
from  our  sleep,  and  we  realized  how  near  us  were 
drawing  the  perils  of  war. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  103 

Excitement  grew  all  over  London,  the  citizens 
being  enraged  afresh  against  the  King  for  trying 
thus  to  enter  the  capital  at  the  sword's  point,  as 
they  said,  under  the  cloak  of  peaceful  professions. 

The  whole  night  through  after  that  fight  at 
Brentford  drums  were  beating  and  forces  mustering, 
and  on  Sunday  morning,  being  November  14,  rein- 
forcements poured  forth  to  the  strength  of  24,000 
men,  and  were  reviewed  on  Turnham  Green.  But 
Lord  Essex  was  too  cautious  to  risk  another  battle, 
otherwise,  'tis  said,  the  King  might  have  been 
caught  in  a  net  and  routed,  instead  of  being  allowed 
to  get  back,  scot-free,  to  loyal  Oxford. 

My  father,  who  was  here  this  morning  to  give 
Laurel  her  lesson  on  the  harpsichon,  told  us  that 
when  London  was  a-trembling  for  fear  of  the  King's 
invasion,  Mr.  Milton  affixed  outside  the  door  of  his 
lodgings  in  Aldersgate  Street  a  sonnet  claiming  from 
the  invaders  the  reverence  shown  to  the  city  of 
Euripides,  and  by  Alexander  the  Great  to  the  poet 
of  Thebes. 

'  It  happened,'  said  my  father,  '  that  some  foreign 
travellers  were  admiring  the  tombs  in  St.  Olave's,  and, 
as  I  came  from  the  organs,  one  asked  me  to  direct 
them  to  the  present  dwelling  of  Mr.  Milton,  the  famous 
scholar,  and  author  of  "  Penseroso  "  and  "  Lycidas." 
They  had  already  seen,  they  said,  the  house  at  the 


104  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

sign  of  the  Spread  Eagle,  in  Bread  Street,  where  he 
was  born.  As  I  was  going  that  way,  I  offered  to 
show  them  the  house,  and  there  was  the  sonnet, 
nailed  to  the  door,  in  Mr.  Milton's  own  handwriting. 
The  foreign  gentlemen  said  it  well  repaid  their 
journey  out  of  Italy  to  read  it.' 

My  father  has  writ  down  the  lines  for  me  to  copy 
in  my  day-book  : 

'  Captain  or  colonel  or  knight  in  arms, 
Whose  chance  on  these  defenceless  doors  may  seize  ; 
If  deed  of  honour  did  thee  ever  please, 
Guard  them,  and  him  within  protect  from  harms  ; 
He  can  requite  thee,  for  he  knows  the  charms 
That  call  fame  on  such  gentle  acts  as  these, 
And  he  can  spread  thy  name  o'er  land  and  seas, 
Whatever  clime  the  sun's  bright  circle  warms. 
Lift  not  thy  spear  against  the  Muses'  bower  ; 
The  great  Emathian  conqueror  did  spare 
The  House  of  Pindarus,  when  temple  and  tower 
Went  to  the  ground,  and  the  repeated  air 
Of  sad  Electra's  poet  had  the  power 
To  save  the  Athenian  walls  from  ruin  bare.' 

December  18. 

We  were  invited  this  evening,  at  Sir  John  Harrison's 
house  in  Bishopsgate,  to  a  party  of  music,  which  was 
interrupted  by  the  arrest  of  our  good  host.  Mr. 
William  Lawes  was  present,  and  my  father,  with  the 
boys  Will  and  Tim,  who  had  been  bidden  to  bring 
their  viols.  After  supper  the  concert  had  opened 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  105 

with  a  piece  of  Dr.  John  Bull's  for  five  viols  and 
organ.  Then  had  come  canzonets  for  three  voices 
and  soft  Italian  madrigals. 

The  dark  oak  chamber  we  were  gathered  together 
in  was  lighted  with  flambeaux  at  the  corners  and  a 
chandelier  of  waxen  tapers  in  the  centre.  Looking 
from  the  windows,  it  seemed  almost  as  if  one  could 
step  into  the  richly-furnished  interior  of  Sir  Paul 
Pindar's  house  opposite,  every  room  of  which  was 
likewise  lit  up.  Music-books  and  instruments  were 
littered  about  the  room  in  which  we  sat,  and  a  sweet 
air  of  Luca  Marenzio's,  which  Mr.  Lawes  said  the 
Muses  themselves  might  not  have  been  ashamed  to 
compose,  yet  lingered  in  the  beams,  when  a  servant  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway.  Ere  he  could  deliver  himself 
of  what  he  would  say,  some  men,  armed  and  with 
their  hats  still  on  their  heads,  rudely  pushed  by  the 
servant  and  came  and  laid  hands  on  Sir  John  Harrison. 

'  No  need  to  announce  us,'  said  one ;  '  we  are 
servants  of  the  Parliament.' 

'And  I  am  a  member  of  the  Parliament,'  said  Sir 
John. 

'  Ay,  a  member  who  absents  himself  from  all  its 
councils,  and  so  one  who  'tis  deemed  may  as  well 
sit  in  it  across  seas  in  company  with  others  of  his 
quality  who  are  suspected  of  brewing  mischief  at 
home.' 


106  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Both  his  daughters  repeated  with  a  cry  of  horror, 
'  Across  seas !'  and  then  ran  to  their  father. 

'  Yes ;  take  your  farewell  of  him,  for  it's  many  a 
long  day,  perchance,  before  you  will  see  him  again,' 
said  the  Parliament's  officer  brutally. 

Sir  John  is  of  a  great  height,  and  Anne  so  small 
and  fairylike.  He  looked  a  giant  as  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  soothed  her  fears. 

'  We  shall  not  be  parted  for  long,  dear  sweetheart,' 
he  said  in  French,  lowering  his  voice.  '  Take  care  of 
Meg,  and  our  cousin  Young  and  his  wife  will  take 
care  of  you  both.'  Then,  turning  to  his  guests,  he 
asked  their  pardon  for  being  thus  obliged  to  speed 
their  departure.  '  I  must  accompany  these  gentle- 
men, it  seems,'  he  said, '  though  Heaven  knows  what 
they  want  with  me.' 

'  We  want  those  papers  of  the  Revenue  you  have 
in  your  possession.  'Tis  the  Parliament's  order  that 

- 

you  give  them  up.' 

'  'Tis  no  use  searching  for  them  here.  They  must 
be  fetched  from  another  place,'  Sir  John  said ;  and  I 
noticed  he  looked  more  hopeful  at  mention  of  the 
papers. 

He  bade  us  all  good-night  and  God-speed,  and 
entrusted  his  girls  to  Gabriel  and  me.  We  brought 
them  hither  in  our  coach,  to  tarry  with  us  till  they 
have  news  from  their  father.  Margaret,  the  younger, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  107 

was  so  affrighted  for  him  that  she  wept  and  wailed 
all  the  way,  but  Anne  quickly  regained  her  spirits, 
and  declares  she  has  every  confidence  in  her  father 
getting  loose. 

Christmastide^  1642. 

Anne  Harrison  and  her  sister  are  still  with  us. 
Laurel  so  worships  Anne  that  she  hopes  she  may  stay 
for  ever,  but  Silence  is  as  indifferent  to  her  as  she 
is  to  other  people,  with  the  exception  of  Hugh 
1'Estrange. 

We  went  to  morning  prayers  in  great  St.  Paul's, 
and  heard  the  Christmas  anthem  composed  by 
Dr.  Child.  How  the  voices  of  the  choir  soared  into 
the  vaulted  roof,  and  the  rich,  swelling  organ-notes 
rolled  through  the  vast  building!  'Tis  the  organ 
that  draws  the  soul  upwards  in  praise  of  the  Most 
High  as  no  other  instrument  could  ever  do,  methinks; 
and  I  thrill  and  vibrate  to  its  mighty  waves  of  sound, 
though  since  I  was  married  I  have  scarce  touched 
the  organ  myself,  Gabriel  thinking  I  now  lack  the 
strength  to  play  on  it. 

We  came  down  the  long  aisle  of  the  nave  after 
the  service,  where,  as  usual,  assembled  to  lounge, 
promenade,  and  gossip,  were  a  motley  crew,  when 
Anne  Harrison  suddenly  caught  my  arm  and  ex- 
claimed : 


io8  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

1  See,  there  is  my  father,  alone  and  free  !' 

Sir  John  came  up  to  us  and,  leading  the  way  to  a 
secluded  spot  in  the  cloisters,  he  told  us  that  on 
pretext  of  fetching  the  papers  his  captors  had  de- 
manded, he  had  evaded  them.  He  was  now  resolved 
to  start  forthwith  for  Oxford,  and  would,  when  safely 
there,  have  his  daughters  follow  him  thither. 

'  But  why  may  we  not  bear  you  company  now  ?' 
asked  Anne. 

'  Because  I  would  fain  provide  accommodation  for 
you  first.  Oxford  is  full  to  overflowing,  and  I  know 
not  if  I  can  find  a  place  to  lay  my  head  when  I  get 
there.' 

He  then  bade  us  a  hurried  farewell,  for,  said  he, 
every  moment  he  lingered  increased  the  danger  of 
his  being  recaptured.  Anne  was  content  to  come 
home  with  us  again  and  take  part  in  our  Christmas- 
tide  revels,  and  she  does  enliven  us  all  with  her 
bright  company  and  merry  quips. 

February,  1643. 

Last  week  a  messenger  came  from  Oxford,  bearing 
a  letter  for  Anne  from  her  father.  In  it  he  said  that 
he  had  now  found  some  rooms  above  a  baker's  shop, 
and  would  fain  have  his  daughters  come  to  him  in 
these  humble  quarters  at  once.  So  our  guests  began 
to  prepare  for  an  instant  departure.  The  house  in 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  109 

Bishopsgate  Street  had  been  shamefully  plundered, 
and  a  Puritan  guard  was  still  installed  there.  These 
two  fair  girls,  who  had  never  known  what  'twas  to 
lack  every  possible  comfort  and  luxury  in  their  town 
and  country  homes,  were  now  without  money  and 
clothes,  except  those  they  had  on  their  backs. 

Anne  would  not  let  me  give  them  more  than  a  few 
necessary  garments,  which  she  thrust  herself  into  a 
cloak-bag,  in  great  haste  and  impatience  to  obey  her 
father's  summons. 

'  Who  will  be  there  to  see  the  creases,'  said  she, 
'  in  the  baker's  shop  ?  And,  belike,  we  may  have  to 
exchange  the  baker's  shop  for  a  tent  before  long, 
and  then  fine  clothes  would  certainly  be  out  of 
place.' 

They  rid  away  in  the  early  freshness  of  the  soft, 
mild  day,  with  but  a  single  servant  behind  them, 
bearing  their  cloak-bags,  and  methought  Anne  had 
never  looked  more  radiant. 

Laurel  ran  out  after  them  across  the  courtyard, 
waving  her  handkerchief  and  calling  '  Bon  voyage  !' 
as  she  watched  them  out  of  sight.  Then  she  came 
back  slowly,  and  said,  with  a  great  pathetical  sigh : 

'  Ay,  how  fain  would  I  be  going  too  !' 

'  To  face  hardships  and,  maybe,  misadventure  ?'  I 
said. 

'  Hardships  and  misadventure  in  the  King's  service 


i io  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

in  loyal  Oxford,  methinks,  were  far  more  to  my 
liking  than  ease  and  no  adventure  in  great  disloyal 
London.  I  hate  the  Puritans,  with  their  psalms 
and  their  earthworks.  I  wonder  how  any  who  are 
not  against  the  King  can  bear  to  abide  in  London. 
And,  mother,'  she  went  on,  '  I  do  so  much  love  my 
sweet  cousin  Mistress  Anne.  I  feel  I  would  gladly 
follow  her  to  the  end  of  the  earth,  or  do  anything 
for  her  sake — ay,  be  her  slave.' 

'  Instead  of  Silence's  slave,'  I  could  not  refrain 
from  saying,  though,  to  be  sure,  'twas  an  unwise 
remark,  with  Silence  standing  by,  her  great  eyes 
fixed  searchingly  on  our  lips. 

A  flush  of  wrath  dyed  the  pure  pallor  of  her  cheek. 
In  a  volley  of  signs  she  poured  forth  passionate 
reproaches.  Then  she  scribbled  wildly  on  her 
tablets.  Did  Laurel,  too,  now  love  someone  better 
than  her  ?  Was  she  to  lose  Laurel  as  she  had  lost 
Hugh  ?  Would  Laurel  ever  dare  to  go  away  from 
her  ?  If  so,  Silence  would  be  too  miserable  to  live. 
Silence  would  certainly  die.' 

And  Laurel,  full  of  repentant  concern,  threw  her 
arms  round  her  sister,  caressing  and  reassuring  her 
with  a  thousand  endearing  words.  Silence  came 
before  everyone  else  in  the  world,  she  vowed,  and 
never  would  Laurel  go  anywhere  without  her,  unless 
Silence  wished. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  in 

I  had  it  not  in  my  heart  to  warn  Laurel  that  'twas 
rash  to  make  such  vows,  or  to  tell  her  that  I 
believed  a  separation  at  some  time  would  be  whole- 
some for  these  two  sisters,  who  are  so  closely 
bound  to  one  another  by  the  tie  of  poor  Silence's 
affliction. 


VI 

August  10,  1643. 

'Tis  not  because  the  spring  and  summer  have  been 
barren  of  events  to  record  that  I  have  been  so  long 
idle  with  my  pen.  The  chief  cause  thereof  has  been 
the  birth  of  my  little  Olave,  who  first  saw  the  light  in 
June  in  the  green  velvet  lying-in  chamber  that  over- 
looks the  courtyard.  For  some  weeks  afterwards  I 
was  near  sick  to  death  from  weakness  and  fever,  but 
now  I  am  on  the  mending  hand,  and  able  to  be 
busied  with  my  usual  occupations  in  the  preserving- 
room  and  the  spicery  and  at  my  spinning-wheel. 

'Twas  my  fancy  that  the  baby-boy  should  be 
christened  after  the  Viking  saint  whose  name  has 
been  so  familiar  to  me  from  early  childhood,  since  I 
first  heard  the  strains  of  the  organ,  and  learned  to 
worship  God  at  my  mother's  side  in  the  church  in 
Hart  Street.  He  is  a  lusty  little  fellow,  my  babe 
Olave,  not  unlike  his  uncle  Jack,  with  the  bluest  of 
eyes  and  the  yellowest  of  hair — so  much  as  he  has  of 
[  112  ] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  113 

hair — and  so  his  name  doth  suit  him  well  enough.  I 
have  left  him  now  crowing  in  his  deep-rockered  oak 
cradle  upstairs,  with  his  nurse,  old  Marie,  singing  a 
French  hushabye  at  the  head,  and  Silence  at  the 
foot  gazing  on  him  with  rapture.  For  Silence  holds 
Olave  in  even  greater  dearness  than  she  does  the 
spaniels,  the  birds,  and  the  squirrel,  and  all  dumb 
and  helpless  creatures.  Since  Olave  came  methinks 
Silence  shows  signs  of  being  more  disposed  to  love 
me,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  accept  my  love,  for  which  I  am 
thankful.  She  has  been  much  engaged  of  late  in 
broidering  in  secrecy  some  device  or  other,  which 
Laurel  says  is  to  be  a  surprise  for  me  when  'tis 
finished. 

And  now  I  am  once  more  here  in  the  carnation 
closet  at  my  oaken  desk  in  the  oriel,  and  see  that  I 
have  not  writ  aught  in  this  book  since  the  day  Anne 
Harrison  and  her  sister  left  us  for  Oxford.  It  seems 
a  long  time  ago,  and  we  have  had  no  more  news  of 
Anne,  after  a  letter  she  penned  me  in  March  saying 
that  after  living  in  as  much  comfort  as  they  had 
always  done  'twas  strange  to  find  themselves  as  poor 
as  Job,  sojourning  in  a  garret  at  a  baker's  house  in  a 
back-street.  '  But  'tis  the  lot  of  many  others  of 
quality  here  besides  ourselves,'  she  did  add.  'And  I 
must  needs  say  that  most  bear  being  packed  together 
in  poor  quarters,  and  seeing  perpetually  the  sad 

8 


114  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

spectacle  of  sickness,  plague,  and  other  evils  of  war, 
with  a  martyr-like  cheerfulness.' 

'  And  I,  too,  would  bear  such  discomforts  cheer- 
fully for  the  King,'  Laurel  said,  when  I  read  her  the 
letter. 

But  Laurel's  life  has  not  been  without  some  of  the 
excitements  of  these  stirring  times,  as  I  will  relate. 
In  April  so  many  cries  on  both  sides  were  heard 
again  for  peace  that  negotiations  had  been  opened, 
only  to  break  down  as  the  last  had  done,  the  King 
refusing  indignantly  to  abolish  Episcopacy,  and  to 
give  up  to  the  Parliament  his  darling  right  of  com- 
manding the  militia. 

Whilst  men  were  talking  of  peace,  Mr.  Waller 
came  more  frequently  than  usual  to  the  Gray  House, 
sometimes  in  company  with  his  brother-in-law,  one 
Mr.  Tomkins,  Clerk  of  the  Queen's  Council,  who 
had  a  numerous  acquaintance  and  great  influence  in 
the  City,  and  who  I  have  heard  say  at  our  table 
that  he  knew  many  were  opposed  to  the  violent 
measures  of  the  Parliament  and  favoured  the  King 
at  heart,  though  fear  concealed  their  loyalty. 

'Twas  a  few  days  after  the  negotiations  for  peace 
had  been  broken  off  that  these  two  gentlemen  came 
into  Gabriel's  study  when  he  was  out,  which  is 
divided  only  by  the  arras  from  the  library,  where 
Laurel  and  Hugh  1'Estrange  were  playing  at  chess. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  115 

While  waiting  for  the  return  of  their  host,  they  began 
to  discuss  very  freely  a  plot  they  had  on  foot  to 
seize  the  leaders  of  the  Parliament,  take  possession 
of  the  military  defences,  and  let  the  Royal  forces 
into  London. 

Laurel  listened,  she  told  me  afterwards,  too  extra- 
ordinarily fascinated  to  stir  for  a  few  moments ;  then 
Hugh  took  her  queen  and  said,  '  Check.'  The  little 
word  fell  on  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  and,  being 
heard  behind  the  arras,  brought  Mr.  Waller  and 
Mr.  Tomkins  instantly  into  the  room,  wearing  white, 
scared  faces. 

Laurel  turned  from  the  chess-board  and  faced 
Mr.  Waller.  I  know  how  she  looked,  methinks, 
though  I  was  not  there  to  see.  Her  stately  little 
head  held  high  on  its  brown  stem  of  a  neck,  her 
lustrous  eyes  full  of  understanding. 

'  We  have  heard  what  was  not  intended  for  our 
ears  belike,'  said  she  boldly. 

'  Yes ;  through  our  incautiousness  you  have  been 
made  participator  in  a  great  secret,'  Mr.  Waller 
answered,  his  eyes  falling  to  the  rosette  on  his  shoe. 
'  But  you  are  a  young  lady  of  honour,  a  King's 
woman,  though  the  daughter  of  a  neutral.  Is  it  not 
so  ?  You  are  to  be  trusted  not  to  make  known  to 
any  living  soul  what  thus  by  accident  hath  come 
to  your  knowledge  ?' 

8—2 


n6  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

' In  sooth  you  may  trust  me,  sir,'  was  Laurel's 
reply.  '  I  will  not  breathe  a  word  of  it.  I  would 
liefer  bite  my  tongue  in  two  than  use  it  to  injure 
the  King.' 

Mr.  Waller  then  raised  his  eyes  in  relief  and 
admiration. 

'  Brava !  that  is  well  spoken,'  said  he.  *  I  see  we 
may  count  on  a  new  ally.' 

'  But  'tis  necessary/  said  Mr.  Waller's  confederate, 
'  to  gain  the  same  assurances  from  this  young  man.' 

He  glanced  uneasily  at  Hugh's  cropped  head  and 
prentice's  jerkin. 

'  I  can  answer  for  his  honour  as  well  as  my  own,' 
Laurel  made  haste  to  say. 

'  Yet,  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  we  would  fain 
hear  him  answer  for  himself,'  persisted  Mr.  Tomkins. 

Hugh  sat  fingering  the  chess-men,  and  did  not 
speak.  Then  Mr.  Waller  bent  over  Hugh  with 
something  of  a  threat  in  his  insinuating  manner. 

'  Swear  it !'  he  muttered  'twixt  his  teeth.  '  We 
cannot  be  content  till  you  take  your  oath  on't.' 

Still  Hugh  said  nothing. 

'To  please  me,  Hugh,'  Laurel  urged — 'to  please 
me,  you  will  surely  satisfy  these  gentlemen  and 
take  your  oath  on't.' 

Hugh  jumped  to  his  feet. 

'No,  I  will  not!'  said  he  resolutely.     'I  will  not 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  117 

take  my  oath  on't !  I  will  not  be  forced  against  my 
will  to  conspire  in  this  plot,  which,  if  hatched,  may, 
for  all  I  know,  be  the  cause  of  slaughter  and  blood- 
shed and  lamentation  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  London.' 

Just  then  Gabriel's  step  was  heard  coming  to  the 
study. 

Laurel's  eyes  must  have  blazed  with  anger  as  she 
cried : 

'Then,  Hugh,  I  will  never,  never  play  chess  with 
you  again !' 

When  she  told  me  the  story,  much  as  I  have  writ  it 
here,  after  the  ill-starred  plot  had  been  discovered, 
Mr.  Waller  imprisoned  and  Mr.  Tomkins  hung  at 
his  front-door,  Laurel  explained  that  she  had  meant 
a  great  deal  that  there  was  not  time  to  say  by  these 
words,  '  I  will  never  play  chess  with  you  again,'  and 
that  Hugh  knew  it.  She  meant  that  there  would  be 
no  more  reading  and  singing  beneath  the  rustling 
trees,  no  more  confidences  permitted  about  the 
original  dial  Hugh  had  designed  and  was  construct- 
ing in  his  private  hours — in  fact,  that  the  old  sisterly 
comradeship  of  Blois  days  was  over.  And  Hugh,  I 
think,  accepted  his  dismissal  from  Laurel,  though 
Silence's  unchanged  devotion  and  his  respect  for 
Gabriel  still  brought  him  afterwards  on  holy  days  to 
the  Gray  House. 


u8  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'Twas  on  the  last  day  of  May  that  the  plot  came 
out — how,  and  through  whom,  no  one  seemed  to 
know.  The  gentlemen  of  the  Parliament  were  in 
St.  Margaret's,  at  Westminster,  listening  attentively 
to  a  sermon,  for  'twas  one  of  their  solemn  fasts, 
when  a  messenger  entered  the  church,  and  brought 
the  news  to  Mr.  Pym,  who  whispered  it  to  those 
sitting  near  him,  causing  great  consternation  among 
the  rest  of  the  congregation.  Immediately  guards 
were  sent  to  apprehend  Mr.  Waller  and  his  brother- 
in-law. 

The  said  Mr.  Waller  was  so  confounded  with  fear 
that  he  made  a  most  complete  confession  of  the 
whole  affair,  telling  all  he  knew  of  himself  and  all 
he  suspected  of  others.  He  made  no  concealment 
of  names — accused  the  Earl  of  Portland  and  Lord 
Conway  of  co-operating  in  the  transaction,  and  said 
the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  too,  was  in  favour  of 
any  attempt  against  the  Parliament,  and  of  recon- 
ciliation with  the  King.  He  mentioned  the  ladies  to 
whom,  on  the  credit  of  his  wit  and  reputation,  he 
had  been  admitted,  and  how  they  had  encouraged 
him  to  oppose  the  proceedings  of  the  Houses. 
Altogether,  the  courtly  orator  and  poet  played  a 
coward's  part,  and  so  did  his  fellow-conspirator, 
Mr.  Tomkins,  who,  when  seized,  revealed  another 
plot  that  Sir  Nicholas  Crisp  had  been  brewing  side 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  119 

by  side  with  his  own,  which  was  to  raise  a  regiment 
for  the  King  within  the  City.  For  that  purpose  the 
King  had  sent  the  Royalist  merchant  a  commission 
of  array  from  Oxford  by  the  Lady  Aubigny,  who 
delivered  it  up  to  Mr.  Tomkins  on  receiving  from 
him  the  appointed  token.  He  had  buried  it  in  his 
garden,  and  now,  on  his  arrest,  ordered  it  to  be  dug 
up.  He  and  another  of  the  conspirators  were 
sentenced  to  be  hung,  but  Mr.  Waller,  the  most 
guilty,  affected  such  sorrow  and  remorse  of  con- 
science that  his  trial  was  postponed  out  of  Christian 
compassion. 

After  an  interval,  made  use  of  by  him  in  further 
confession,  submission,  lamentation,  flattery,  and  sup- 
plication, he  was  expelled  the  House,  fined,  and  sent 
to  prison  for  a  year.  When  this  was  known,  Sir  Oracle 
said  he  feared  that  Mr.  Waller  had  bought  his  life 
by  dissimulation,  and  Laurel  had  not  a  word  to  say 
in  defence  of  one  on  whose  heroical  daring  on 
behalf  of  the  King  she  had  built  great  expectations, 
doomed  to  disappointment. 

Laurel  has  given  up  singing  '  Go,  Lovely  Rose.' 
During  June  and  July  the  war  has  raged  all  over 
the  country,  and  from  every  quarter  news  comes  of 
success  for  the  King's  party — of  battles  won  and 
towns  taken.  London  is  mightily  dispirited  thereat, 
and  some  blame  the  defensive  generalship  of  Lord 


120  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Essex,  and  would  have  had  him  replaced  by  Colonel 
Hampden,  whose  regiment  of  green-coats  hath  done 
the  Parliament  Stirling  service.  But  on  June  25 
Colonel  Hampden  died  of  a  wound  gotten  in  a 
skirmish  with  Prince  Rupert  at  Chalgrove  Field,  in 
his  own  county  of  Bucks.  They  say  the  last  words 
he  spake  were,  '  God  save  my  bleeding  country.'  I 
shall  never  forget  his  face  as  I  saw  it  in  the  boat 
that  January  day — the  day  of  his  bloodless  victory 
at  the  beginning  of  these  troubles.  I  cannot  but 
hold,  with  Gabriel,  that  the  citizens  have  cause  to 
mourn  the  loss  of  a  leader  so  great  and  just  as  was 
Colonel  Hampden,  though  an  enemy  of  the  King. 

The  surrender  of  Bristol  to  Prince  Rupert  has 
brought  up  the  question  of  peace  again,  and  the 
Commons  have  been  debating  fiercely  proposals  for 
peace  made  by  the  Lords.  One  day  the  Mayor  and 
his  Aldermen  come  to  Westminster  with  a  great 
rabble  behind  them  and  petition  against  peace ;  the 
next,  women  to  the  number  of  several  hundreds 
come,  with  white  ribands  in  their  hats,  and  clamour 
at  the  Commons  House  in  favour  of  peace. 

At  noon  yesterday  5,000  women  (some  men  in 
women's  garb,  'tis  said)  were  gathered  there,  raving 
about  the  doors  :  '  Peace  !  let  us  have  peace !  Give 
us  the  traitors  who  are  against  peace  !  Give  us  that 
dog  Pym !' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  121 

On  our  way  to  dine  with  an  acquaintance  in  Petty 
France,  my  husband  and  I  were  spectators  of  such 
a  scene  of  riot  and  terror  as  I  had  never  before 
witnessed.  As  this  struggling  mob  of  excited  viragoes 
refused  to  disperse,  the  Parliament's  guards  did  fire 
on  them,  and  it  happened,  just  as  our  coach  held  up, 
because  impeded  by  the  crowd,  a  ballad-singer, 
waving  a  white  silk  flag  in  her  brawny  hand,  was 
struck  by  a  ball,  and  fell  dead  in  the  midst  of  the 
wild  song  with  which  she  had  been  inciting  her  com- 
panions. Many  got  their  faces  and  hands  slashed  by 
the  troop  of  cavalry  that  finally  scattered  the  throng, 
leaving  eight  wounded  or  dead  on  the  ground. 

Such  proceedings  as  these  are  not  likely  to 
forward  the  cause  of  peace,  Gabriel  says.  I  was 
near  to  fainting  for  fright  at  the  sight  of  those  fierce 
peace-makers  flying  from  under  the  horses'  feet, 
and  when  our  destination  was  reached  could  scarce 
recover  enough  to  partake  of  the  cheer  our  friends 
offered  us. 

At  table  the  talk  was  mostly  of  the  low  ebb  the 
Parliament's  fortunes  are  now  reached,  of  Lord 
Essex's  broken  ranks,  which  are  so  thinned  and 
wasted  by  disease,  and  of  the  King's  proposed 
march  on  London,  in  the  flush  of  his  triumphs,  with 
his  own  army  and  the  army  of  the  North,  under 
Lord  Newcastle. 


122  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

This  rumoured  march  is  sending  Londoners  forth 
to  work  on  the  earthworks  and  forts  for  twelve 
miles  round  London  with  renewed  vigour.  They  go 
daily  in  a  body  of  thousands,  with  colours  flying  and 
drums  beating — tailors,  watchmen,  shoemakers,  and 
oyster-women — to  dig  at  their  appointed  place  of 
labour,  and  one  cannot  but  feel  they  are  mightily 
inspired  by  the  extremity  of  a  newly-threatened 
danger. 

August  15. 

We  were  treated  to-day  in  the  Spring  Garden  at 
Knightsbridge  by  my  old  Lady  Armytage,  who  is 
set  on  winning  Gabriel's  consent  to  a  match  'twixt 
Laurel  and  one  of  the  two  clownish  youths  who  are 
her  grandsons. 

'Twas  pleasant,  on  this  fair  summer  day,  to 
saunter  about  the  green  glades  and  lawns  beneath 
the  shade  of  umbrageous  limes,  whose  perfume  was 
beyond  description  sweet.  The  sky  was  deepest 
blue,  with  shining  white  clouds  heaped  upon  it  like 
mountain-ranges,  and  the  warm  wind  made  music 
in  the  tree-tops. 

Laurel  was  not  troubled  long  by  her  clownish 
suitor,  for,  after  some  awkward  bowings  and  scrapings 
and  clumsy  flatteries,  prompted  by  his  lady  grand- 
mother, naught — not  even  Laurel's  bright  eyes — 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  123 

could  keep  him  from  the  bowling-green,  where 
gallants  bowled  and  betted,  watched  eagerly  by 
some  of  the  ladies  in  the  company. 

The  desertion  of  her  cavalier  seemed  rather  to 
delight  than  to  distress  Laurel,  and  she  and  Silence, 
with  their  arms  entwined,  forgetting  their  company 
demeanours,  ran,  like  a  pair  of  boys,  to  the  edge  of 
the  lake,  where  they  fed  the  swans  and  waterfowl 
with  little  sweet  cakes  they  had  taken  from  a  table 
spread  with  silver  and  dainties  under  the  trees. 

Admiring  glances  from  both  sexes  followed  the 
unconscious  and  graceful  motions  of  my  step- 
daughters, and  I  needs  must  feel  proud  of  my 
relationship  to  them. 

Lady  Eleanor  Davies,  in  a  scarlet  petticoat  and 
yellow-plumed  hat,  who  was  among  Lady  Armytage's 
guests,  rolled  her  wild  black  orbs  in  their  sunken 
sockets,  and  asked  me  searching  questions  about 
Silence,  which  my  somewhat  short  answers  did  not 
discourage. 

Had  not  the  power  of  seeing  the  unseen  which 
those  wondrous  gray  eyes,  without  a  doubt,  possessed 
been  exercised?  She  would  dearly  love  to  try  an 
experiment  to  demonstrate  this  rare  maid's  gift  of 
sight.  Would  we  permit  it  ? 

'  You  may  have  heard,'  said  the  Lady  Eleanor, 
'  of  that  marvel  of  a  deaf  boy  that  the  justices  of  he 


124  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

peace  would  not  allow  me  to  harbour  beneath  my 
roof,  calling  him  witch  and  vagrant  by  reason  of  his 
gift  of  prophecy.  He  could  manifest  easily  what 
was  contained  in  sealed  letters  or  enclosed  in  secret 
cabinets,  and  tell  the  exact  number  of  pence  or 
peppercorns  in  a  bag  or  box  before  'twas  opened. 
So  'tis  sometimes  made  amends  to  those  who  are 
short  of  a  sense  by  being  endowed  with  extra  keen- 
ness in  another.' 

'I  have  only  remarked,'  I  answered,  'that  Silence 
hath  perhaps  a  quicker  and  more  sensitive  eye  than 
most  for  beauty  of  shapes  and  colour,  which  she 
shows  in  her  needlework  and  broidery.  But  there 
is  naught  of  the  supernatural  in  that.' 

'  And  you  would  fain  have  nothing  that  smacks  of 
the  supernatural  cultivated,  madam.  Whereas  I 
hold,  on  the  contrary,  that  a  supernatural  gift  should 
no  more  be  neglected  than  a  gift  for  painting,  music, 
or  dancing.' 

She  spoke  this  with  so  vehement  an  emphasis, 
and  leaned  her  dark  haggard  face  under  the  weirdly- 
nodding  yellow  plumes  so  close  to  mine,  that  I  felt 
relieved  when  a  third  person  came  towards  us  and 
interrupted  our  tete-a-tete.  Yet  I  was  none  the  less 
interested  to  have  met  and  talked  with  this  amazing 
woman,  of  whom  I  had  often  heard  strange  tales. 
'Tis  said  that  her  gloomy  prophecies  do  now  so 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  125 

plague  the  Queen  that  she  will  not  have  her  about 
the  Court  at  Oxford.  Two  years  after  her  marriage 
with  King  Charles  the  Lady  Eleanor  waiting  on 
her  Majesty  coming  from  Mass,  the  Queen,  then  in 
the  heyday  of  her  youth  and  happiness,  asked  the 
prophetess  how  long  'twould  last,  her  being  happy. 
The  reply  was  sixteen  years,  and,  this  having  proved 
pretty  true  belike,  the  Queen,  who  is  hopeful  and 
ever  prone  to  look  on  the  bright  side,  fears  to  know 
more  of  the  lady's  forecasts. 

When  'twas  become  generally  known  in  the 
company  that  Lady  Eleanor  Davies  was  present, 
many  ladies  and  gallants  flocked  about  her,  begging 
to  have  their  fortunes  told.  I  was  sorry  that  whilst 
this  folly  was  going  on  Laurel  and  Silence  came 
back  from  the  lake,  for  the  sight  of  the  latter  ap- 
proaching distracted  Lady  Eleanor  from  her  fortune- 
telling.  She  broke  off  abruptly  in  the  fluent  formulas 
with  which  'tis  her  habit  to  gratify  the  vulgar 
curi.osity  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  concerning  their 
future,  and  laid  her  hands  on  Silence's  shoulders, 
looking  straight  into  her  face  with  great  solemnity. 
Her  eyes  rolled  and  the  yellow  plumes  nodded 
terrifically,  as,  after  contemplating  Silence  for  some 
moments  thus,  she  declared  : 

'  One  day  by  a  miracle  this  fair  child's  tongue  will 
be  loosed  and  her  ears  unstopped.' 


126  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Silence  had  turned  her  head  aside ;  for  there  are 
lips  she  will  make  no  effort  to  read,  and  methought 
the  wide  gaps  'twixt  Lady  Eleanor's  discoloured  teeth 
revolted  her  fastidious  eye.  She  was  restive  as  a 
spirited  pony,  and  tried  to  wriggle  free  of  the  clutch 
of  the  prophetess's  shrivelled  and  much-bejewelled 
hands,  that  held  her  shoulders  in  a  vice. 

But  Laurel  has  no  such  squeamishness.  Her  face 
illumined  with  joy  at  the  words  Lady  Eleanor  had 
spoken.  She  lifted  the  hem  of  the  flaunting  scarlet 
petticoat  to  her  lips. 

'  Oh,  my  lady,'  said  she  in  melting  tones,  '  what 
dear  news  is  this  you  give  us !  What  dear  news ! 
Only,  my  lady,  tell  us,  I  pray,  when  and  how  the 
miracle  will  be  performed.' 

'  The  manner  of  it  I  know  not,  but  the  time 
will  be  when  the  unparalleled  troubles  that  now  rend 
the  kingdom  asunder  are  drawing  to  their  close,  and 
the  happy  restoration  of  peace  within  sight.' 

'  Oh,  may  that  time  not  be  far  off,  then !'  Laurel 
said  with  fervour. 

There  had  been  a  diversion  to  the  bowling-alley, 
where  Sir  John  Suckling,  who  writ  '  The  Session  of 
Poets,'  and  also  is  reputed  to  be  the  most  daring 
bowler  and  gamester  of  his  time,  had  come  on  the 
scene.  The  rumour  that  he  was  to  be  seen  bowling 
had  drawn  attention  from  the  picturesque  group 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  127 

which  the  prophetess,  with  Laurel  and  Silence, 
made  beneath  the  tent-like  boughs  of  a  wide-spread- 
ing ash. 

'Twas  well,  thought  I,  that  Silence  had  under- 
stood nothing  of  the  talked-of  miracle,  and  I  told 
Laurel  'twere  better  to  let  her  remain  in  ignorance, 
for  fear  her  hopes  might  be  raised  to  expect  some- 
thing that  would  never  come  to  pass. 

At  this  Lady  Eleanor  took  pet ;  she  cast  a  wither- 
ing glance  at  me.  '  You  have  broke  the  spell,'  she 
muttered,  and  released  Silence  from  her  grasp,  then 
swept  away  without  another  word. 

We,  too,  now  took  the  path  to  the  bowling-alley 
in  search  of  Gabriel,  and  beheld  the  magnet  that  had 
drawn  nearly  the  whole  company  thither.  Not  tall 
of  stature,  but  elegantly  made,  his  nose  red  and  his 
beard  curled  upwards,  in  glorious  apparel,  Sir  John 
Suckling's  laughter  echoed  through  the  alley  as  his 
bowl  drove  another  from  the  jack.  He  had  lost  a 
thousand  pounds  since  he  entered  Spring  Garden 
that  afternoon,  but  for  all  that  was  in  uproarious 
spirits,  for  he  thinks,  they  say,  that  to  be  splendid  and 
merry  is  the  best  method  of  courting  good  fortune. 

Two  young  ladies,  weeping  distressfully,  stood  on 
the  edge  of  the  bowling-green,  and  Gabriel  told  me 
they  were  Sir  John's  sisters,  who  had  come  here 
uninvited  by  Lady  Armytage,  driven  by  fear  that 


128  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

their  brother  would  lose  all  their  portions.  'Twas 
piteous  to  see  them,  but  their  tears  were  little  heeded 
by  the  gay  and  fashionable  onlookers. 

In  marked  contrast  to  Sir  John  Suckling's  rubicund 
countenance  was  the  face  of  the  bowler  who  stood 
next  him.  'Twas  of  livid  hue,  near  to  resembling 
that  of  a  dead  man,  though  the  eyes  were  alive  and 
restless.  Almost  directly  I  remembered  having  seen 
this  face  before ;  indeed,  it  doth  haunt  my  memory 
whenever  my  eye  falls  on  that  part  of  the  garden-wall 
at  the  Gray  House  where  I  first  saw  it. 

'Who  is  it,  he  who  is  now  casting  his  bowl?'  I 
asked  of  my  husband. 

'  He  is  known  to  me  by  sight,  but  not  by  name. 
Methinks  he  has  sometimes  had  a  lodging  in  the 
neighbouring  house  to  ours  in  Chancery  Lane.' 
Then  Gabriel  added:  'The  gentleman  bears  some 
likeness  to  Hugh  1'Estrange.' 

'  Father !'  exclaimed  Laurel,  '  Hugh  at  least  has 
no  evil  look.  'Tis  because  this  man  has  red  hair 
that  you  see  a  resemblance  in  him  to  Hugh.' 

Laurel's  voice,  clear  as  a  bell,  seemed  to  reach  the 
ear  of  the  person  in  question,  for  in  the  midst  of  his 
occupation  he  turned  round  suddenly  and  regarded 
her  with  an  earnest  scrutiny. 

'  Silence  is  aweary  of  this  assembly,'  said  Laurel, 
'  and  would  fain  be  driving  homewards.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  129 

I,  too,  was  beginning  to  tire  of  the  match  at  bowls, 
and  to  feel  myself  out  of  tune  with  the  spectators  of 
it  and  their  light  chatter  and  laughter,  so  Gabriel 
sent  a  servant  to  call  our  coach. 

All  was  peace  and  beauty  as  we  drove  through  fair 
Hyde  Park  in  the  golden  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 
The  sound  of  wheels  scarce  disturbed  the  pheasants 
from  their  leisurely  struts  abroad,  and  a  herd  of 
white-spotted  fawns  did  not  wheel  round  till  we 
came  quite  close  to  them.  The  coo  of  the  wood- 
pigeon  and  the  throstle's  evening  song  filled  the  air 
with  sweet  melody.  Leaving  the  park  behind,  we 
came  to  pass  that  great  mound  which  is  being  thrown 
up  at  this  point  in  the  line  of  new  fortifications,  and 
here  were  toilers  busy  throwing  up  the  earth,  though 
'twas  past  sunset.  Despite  the  news  that  the  King 
has  deferred  his  march  on  London  because  Lord 
Newcastle  could  not  come  from  the  North  to  join 
him,  and  has  gone  instead  to  besiege  in  his  royal 
person  the  '  godly '  little  city  of  Gloucester,  the  only 
stronghold  left  to  the  Parliament  in  the  West,  the 
people  of  London  are  determined  to  complete  their 
defences,  and  have  not  abated  a  jot  of  their  en- 
thusiasm. 

How  different  was  the  strained  and  eager  attitude 
of  these  figures  outlined  above  us  against  the  rosy 
sky  from  that  of  the  pleasure-seeking  folk  at  loll  in 

9 


130  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Spring  Garden  ;  and  those  who  laboured  were  not 
all  of  the  rough  working  classes,  for  side  by  side 
with  tailors  and  oyster-wenches,  knights  and  gently- 
bred  ladies,  with  their  lace  ruffles  turned  up,  and 
white  hands  bare  of  rings,  wielded  the  spade  and 
mattock,  and  gloried  to  work  by  the  sweat  of  their 
brow  in  such  a  cause. 

At  the  foot  of  the  mound  a  pair  were  resting — a 
youth  and  a  girl — who  had,  judging  from  their  spent 
looks,  borne  their  full  share  of  the  heat  and  burden 
of  the  August  day.  The  girl's  spade  lay  on  the 
ground,  as  she  let  down  her  gray  skirt  and  smoothed 
back  the  locks  of  soft,  fair  hair  that  had  strayed  out 
from  her  muslin  cap  over  her  hot  face. 

'  See,  there  are  Hugh  and  Mistress  Margaret 
Haynes,'  said  Laurel. 

But  Silence  had  seen  Hugh  first,  and  was  leaning 
over  the  coach  door,  making  signs  and  calling  him 
with  her  eyes. 

Hugh  did  not  obey  the  call,  for  the  simple  reason, 
methought,  that  he  was  unaware  of  it.  His  whole 
attention  was  riveted  on  his  companion,  whom  he 
was  trying  to  persuade  to  refresh  herself  with  milk 
from  a  pewter  vessel  that  he  held  towards  her, 
whilst  she  appeared  to  be  too  engaged  with  the 
refractory  locks  to  think  of  slaking  tier  thirst. 

The  coach  drove  onwards,  and  Silence  sank  down 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  131 

in  her  seat  at  Laurel's  side,  her  supple  ringers 
twitching  at  a  fold  in  her  kirtle,  her  eyes  brimful  of 
disappointment. 

Hitherto  Silence  has  accepted  the  existence  of  a 
Mistress  Margaret  with  the  utmost  composure  and 
indifference,  for  truly  on  the  Sundays  and  holidays 
that  Hugh  comes  to  us  there  might  be  no  such 
person  as  Mistress  Margaret.  He  never  so  much  as 
mentions  her  name,  unless  'tis  in  reply  to  Laurel's 
mocking  question  respecting  her.  To  Silence  he  is 
always  the  same  Hugh — the  heroical  Hugh  who 
saved  her  from  the  jaws  of  the  wolf;  the  patient 
Hugh  who  suffered  her  to  follow  him  to  Monsieur 
Pierre's  the  goldsmith,  to  the  fairs  at  Blois,  and  to 
the  forest,  and  on  all  his  boyish  excursions ;  the 
kind  Hugh  who  gave  her  his  pocket-dial,  and  kissed 
the  back  of  her  neck  when  he  went  away  to  Master 
Haynes,  at  the  sign  of  the  Tortoise,  in  Cheapside. 

But  Laurel  has  been  scornfully  jealous  of  Mistress 
Margaret  from  the  first  moment  she  saw  her.  Yet 
'tis  a  singular  kind  of  jealousy,  being  not  for  herself, 
methinks,  so  much  as  for  Silence. 

'  Did  he  really  not  see,  or  did  he  feign  not  to  see  ?' 
Laurel  asked  indignantly,  taking  one  of  Silence's 
hands  in  hers,  and  stroking  it  as  if  it  were  some 
ruffled,  fluttering  bird. 

'  Tis  not  like  Hugh  to  feign  aught,'  said  I.     '  If  it 

9—2 


I32        AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

were,  he  would  have  feigned  that  day  to  Mr.  Waller 
that  he  would  hold  his  tongue.' 

'  I  have  never  forgiven  him  for  it,'  Laurel  said, 
and  her  young  face  flushed,  and  was  sternly  set ; 
'  though  I  will  say  this  much,  that  I  don't  believe 
'twas  through  Hugh's  tattle  that  the  plot  got  out.' 

'  There  can  be  no  question  about  it.  The  affair 
was  so  feebly  and  incautiously  contrived  that 
'twas  known  in  a  dozen  hostile  quarters  at  least,' 
Gabriel  said  with  decision. 

Laurel  said  no  more,  and  fell  again  to  the  comfort- 
ing of  Silence,  which  was  hardly  accomplished  by 
the  time  we  reached  the  Gray  House. 

The  clouds  only  cleared  from  Silence's  brow  when 
she  was  in  the  nursery  with  old  Marie,  and  laughing, 
wakeful  King  Olave  in  her  lap,  she  playing  with  his 
pink  toes  in  dumb-show  : 

'  This  little  pig  went  to  market ; 
This  little  pig  stayed  at  home.' 

Then  her  rare  smiles  broke  forth,  and  Silence  looked 
happy. 

August  25. 

I  can  scarce  believe  that  but  a  few  days  ago  I 
writ  of  Silence  looking  happy,  for  now  her  aspect 
is  most  woeful.  Not  Bobbo  the  squirrel,  using 
his  bushy  tail  as  a  sail  wherewith  to  swim  across 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  133 

Olave's  bath  ;  not  Olave  dashing  his  fists  at  Marie's 
dangling  rosary  ;  nor,  indeed,  any  pranks  of  squirrel 
or  baby,  can  now  set  the  curves  round  Silence's  lips 
a-dimpling.  She  will  be  left  alone  with  that  piece 
of  embroidery  she  is  at  work  on  in  secret,  and  even 
Laurel  dare  not  offer  her  consolation.  Silence  is 
inconsolable  because  Hugh  has  gone  further  away 
from  her  than  Cheapside. 

Yesterday,  with  the  consent  of  his  master,  Hugh 
marched  forth  in  the  ranks  of  one  of  the  four  regiments 
of  train-bands  that  have  volunteered  to  follow  the 
army  of  my  Lord  Essex  to  the  relief  of  Gloucester. 

We  were  in  ignorance  of  his  resolution,  and  he 
took  no  direct  farewell  of  us.  But  last  evening 
Mistress  Margaret  Haynes,  attended  by  one  of  her 
father's  men,  came  hither,  and  asked  if  she  might 
speak  with  me  or  with  Mistress  Laurel  Young. 

I  received  her  in  the  withdrawing  room  through 
the  hall,  and  begged  her  to  sit  down. 

She  seated  herself  primly  on  the  edge  of  a  stool, 
with  her  hands  clasped  in  front  of  her.  The  great 
heat  had,  methought,  faded  the  roses  in  her  cheeks, 
for  she  was  near  as  pale  as  the  jasmine  stars  peeping 
round  the  casement,  and  filling  the  room  with  their 
evening  fragrance.  The  snowy  kerchief  crossed  so 
neatly  on  her  dove-gray  gown  was  no  whiter  than 
the  neck  above  it,  and  all  truant  tresses  to-day  were 


134  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

invisible  under  the  tight  little  cap  she  wore  of  black 
silk. 

She  related  demurely  how  the  finger  of  the  Lord 
had  directed  Hugh  to  be  up  and  doing  in  His  service. 
The  tale  of  the  little  Puritan  city  holding  out 
bravely  with  small  stores  and  ammunition,  and  a 
garrison  of  but  1,500  men,  in  order  that  the  dis- 
heartened Parliamentarians  might  have  a  breathing- 
space  wherein  to  recruit  their  damaged  ranks,  had 
stirred  Hugh  to  the  quick,  as  it  had  done  hundreds 
of  other  youths  of  his  position,  and  he,  too,  had  been 
of  a  sudden  inspired  to  take  up  arms,  and  to  go 
forth  this  time  with  the  rest. 

'  He  had  no  leisure,  and  maybe  no  heart,  to  say 
his  farewells  to  you,'  Mistress  Margaret  said ;  '  but 
he  bade  me  see  that  this  letter  was  delivered  into 
the  hands  of  his  foster-sister,  Mistress  Laurel,  and 
so  I  have  brought  it  myself.' 

She  drew  a  cover  from  her  pouch,  addressed  to 
Laurel  in  Hugh's  handwriting. 

I  sent  a  servant  to  summon  Laurel,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  she  entered  the  room,  with  a  careless, 
sauntering  step,  looking  tall  and  goodly  in  her  rich 
long  dress  of  green  and  primrose  brocade,  with 
velvet  slashings,  and  a  fine  chain  of  gold  round  her 
well-shaped  throat,  on  either  side  of  which  her  nut- 
brown  hair  hung  from  a  coral  comb  in  dense  curls. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  135 

Her  lute  was  under  her  arm,  the  parrot  perched  on 
her  wrist,  and  the  spaniels  sporting  with  the  edge  of 
her  skirts. 

Laurel  curtseyed  with  mock  profundity  to  the 
Puritan  maid,  and  inquired  how  she  did  ;  but  when 
I  said,  '  Mistress  Margaret  has  a  letter  for  you  from 
Hugh  F Estrange,  who  left  London  yesterday  with  the 
train-bands,'  she  quickly  dropped  her  air  of  non- 
chalance, and  exclaimed  vehemently,  as  she  took  the 
missive  from  the  girl's  hand  without  looking  at  it : 

'  'Tis  you  who  have  done  this  !  'Tis  your  work  ! 
I  have  feared  from  the  first  that  you  would  do  it — 
make  a  rebel  of  Hugh,  and  send  him  forth  to  draw 
sword  against  the  King — against  the  King !' 

Aflame  with  wrath,  she  towered  over  the  little 
seated  figure  in  sober  gray. 

But  it  did  not  quail  before  her.  Instead,  an 
answering  fire  leapt  up  in  Mistress  Margaret's  serene 
blue  eyes. 

'  'Tis  not  mine,  but  the  work  of  Him  who  is  above 
all  earthly  Kings.  Hugh  hath  but  listened  to  a  call 
from  the  great  Lord  of  Hosts  and  of  battles.  'Tis 
for  Him  and  His  glory  that  those  brave  men  at 
Gloucester  will  rather  starve  than  yield  their  city  to 
the  enemy,  who  makes  a  mock  of  their  plain  garb 
and  close-cropped  hair  and  Scripture  phrases.  Yet, 
scorned  or  no,  'tis  they  whom  the  Lord  has  chosen 


136  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

to  be  His  instrument  in  turning  the  tide.  The 
disposition  of  the  stars,  my  father  says,  doth  show 
that  ere  long  the  fortunes  of  war  will  favour  the 
Lord's  cause.' 

Such  a  speech  from  quiet  Mistress  Margaret 
Haynes  was  indeed  astonishing.  She  had  risen  to 
her  feet  as  she  poured  it  forth,  and  the  last  lingering 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  as  they  found  their  way  into 
the  dusky  room,  fell  on  her  fair  upturned  face,  so 
that  it  semed  to  shine,  and  was  near  awesome  to 
look  on. 

'  'Tis  all  cant — cant !'  cried  Laurel ;  and  the  parrot, 
mightily  pleased  with  a  new  word  so  easily  mastered, 
repeated  after  her,  '  Cant !  cant !  cant !' 

'  'Tis  of  Silence  I  am  thinking,'  Laurel  went  on, 
with  tears  in  her  voice.  '  For  myself  I  care  not 
whether  Hugh  fights  for  the  rebels,  or  what  he  may 
choose  to  do.  But  Silence !  Oh,  mother,  how  shall 
we  break  it  to  Silence  ?  She  has  been  counting  the 
hours  till  next  Sunday  when  Hugh  was  to  come, 
and  he  had  promised  to  bring  along  with  him  his 
invention  for  a  dial  to  show  her,  and  she  was  so 
proud  at  the  thought  of  being  allowed  to  see  it. 
And  now  he  will  not  come  on  Sunday — may  never 
come  again,  withal.  And  Silence,  what  will  she  do 
without  him  ?  Alack,  my  poor  Silence !' 

'  Poor  Silence  !'  echoed  the  parrot — '  poor  Silence  !' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  137 

I  bade  Laurel  take  the  parrot  out  of  the  room,  for 
I  would  not  have  her  emotions  make  her  forgetful  of 
the  courtesies  due  to  our  visitor. 

She  was  glad  to  escape,  for  the  tears  had  ascended, 
methought,  by  this  time  from  her  voice  to  her  eyes, 
and  she  did  not  return  till  after  Mistress  Margaret 
had  taken  her  departure.  Then  she  came  back  with 
dry  eyes,  softly  twanging  her  lute,  and  singing  in 
snatches,  that  were  half  sobs,  Mr.  Byrd's  '  I  saw  my 
Lady  weeping.' 

Michaelmas  Day. 

Laurel  has  not  confided  to  me  what  Hugh's  letter 
contained,  but  Hugh  has  writ  twice  since  to 
Gabriel :  first,  from  the  camp  on  Prestbury  Hill, 
nigh  Gloucester,  whence  he  and  his  comrades  saw 
the  Royal  forces  withdraw  from  their  trenches,  fire 
their  huts,  and  leave  the  city  to  its  timely  succour, 
for  the  garrison  had  but  three  barrels  of  gunpowder 
left ;  secondly,  after  the  Battle  of  Newbury,  where, 
on  September  14,  Lord  Essex,  finding  the  road  to 
London  barred,  drew  up  his  men  in  fighting  array. 
From  Hugh's  letter,  and  from  the  London  news- 
sheets,  we  have  learned  what  a  hard-fought  day 
that  was. 

'  They  so  despised  us,  the  train-bands,'  Hugh 
wrote,  '  that  many  of  their  officers  flung  off  their 


138  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

doublets  in  bravado,  and  did  lead  their  men  on  in 
their  shirts,  saying  armour  was  not  needed  to  deal 
with  base-born  apprentices  scarce  worth  the  trouble 
of  righting.  Later,  methinks,  they  sang  to  a 
different  tune.' 

'  The  train-bands  of  the  City  of  London,'  said  the 
news-sheet,  'endured  the  chiefest  heat  of  the  fray, 
for,  being  now  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  they  lay  not 
only  open  to  the  horse,  but  to  the  cannon  of  the 
enemy.  Yet  they  stood  undaunted,  and  conquerors 
against  all,  and,  like  a  grove  of  pines  in  a  day  of 
wind  and  tempest,  they  only  moved  their  heads,  but 
kept  their  footing  sure.' 

And  in  a  packet  sent  to  Hart  Street  my  brother 
Roger  tells  of  how,  in  this  combat,  the  dreamer, 
Lord  Falkland,  lost,  or  rather  gave,  his  life,  for  'tis 
said  he  had  long  set  no  value  on't,  his  heart  not 
being  in  the  cause  for  which  he  had  felt  bound  in 
honour  to  fight.  He  was  weary  of  his  country's 
misery,  he  was  heard  to  say  on  that  fatal  morning, 
and  believed  he  should  be  out  of  it  before  night. 
And  so  he  charged  more  gallantly  than  advisedly 
through  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  on  t'other  side  of  which 
the  enemy  were  keeping  up  a  hot  fire,  and  he  and 
his  horse  fell  in  the  instant  dead  together. 

Lord  Falkland  had  been  Secretary  to  the  King 
since  the  fight  at  Edgehill,  and  'twas  through  his 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  139 

advice  that  His  Majesty  sat  down  before  Gloucester, 
which  proved  so  great  an  error. 

His  lordship's  body  was  stripped,  trod  upon,  and 
mangled,  Roger  says,  and  could  only  be  recognised 
by  a  mole  on  the  neck.  How  grievous  and  tragical 
are  these  details  of  war,  and  when  they  concern 
one  we  have  known  and  spoken  with,  they  come 
home  to  us  the  more  distressfully.  I  can  see  now 
Lord  Falkland's  dark  head,  so  nobly  set  on  the 
small,  somewhat  weakly  figure,  as  it  looked  when 
my  husband  and  I  dined  at  Mr.  Selden's  in  White- 
friars,  and  I  have  the  sound  of  his  slow  incisive 
speech  in  my  ears,  as  he  engaged  with  so  much 
admirable  wit  and  judgment  in  the  conversation. 
And  to-day  that  melancholy  head  lies  beneath  the  sod 
on  the  Wiltshire  Downs,  and  the  voice  is  still  for  ever. 

Yet  all  the  painful  tidings  that  come  to  us  in 
London  from  the  scene  of  bloodshed  and  violence 
do  not  make  the  little  affairs  of  our  daily  life  a  whit 
of  less  importance. 

Olave  has  cut  his  first  tooth,  and  'tis  amazing  how 
the  household  both  here  and  in  Hart  Street  hath 
much  rejoiced  and  wondered  over  the  upgrowth  of 
a  tiny  pearl  in  the  rosebud  of  his  mouth.  'Tis  a 
common  enough  miracle,  truly,  of  Nature's  working, 
yet  methinks  it  might  never  have  happened  before 
from  the  fuss  we  have  made  of  it.  This  morning  I 


140  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

was  summoned  betimes  to  settle  a  hot  disputation 
'twixt  chef  Alphonse  and  his  rival  in  the  kitchen,  as 
to  whether  'the  goose  of  Michaelmas'  should  be 
served  up  with  bay-leaves  or  in  sage,  and  as  last  year 
I  cast  my  decision  for  sage,  this  year,  in  fairness,  I 
did  grant  Alphonse  his  bays. 

The  season  for  herb-pulling  and  preserving  of 
fruits  and  rose-leaves  is  over,  but  the  supervision  of 
nut-pickling  and  distilling  essences  keeps  me  busy. 
Laurel,  since  I  taught  her,  has  become  an  apt  pupil 
in  these  matters,  and  shows  a  special  skill  and 
cunning  for  preparing  herb-infusions  and  decoctions 
of  all  sorts  in  the  tin  vessels  of  divers  shapes  and 
sizes,  with  and  without  spouts,  ranged  for  that  pur- 
pose on  the  storeroom  shelves.  Laurel  diligently 
studies  the  recipe-books,  and  doth  experiment  with 
beautifying  washes  and  pastes,  being  still  ambitious 
of  exchanging  the  golden-brown  tint  of  her  skin  for  a 
more  ordinary  pink  and  white.  I  am  glad  her  efforts 
fail  to  bring  about  the  transformation  when  I  see  her 
come  in,  as  at  this  minute,  all  aglow  from  gathering 
posies  for  the  beau-pots,  with  her  cherry  hood  falling 
from  her  brown  hair,  her  silken  apron  filled  with 
clove-carnations,  bachelor's  buttons,  and  other  linger- 
ing summer  glories  of  the  garden ;  she  is  verily  a 
picture  of  rare,  rich  colour,  and  no  eye  that  rests  on  't 
could  wish  it  paled. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  141 

'  Mother,  the  swallows  are  going,'  says  she,  on  her 
knees  by  my  dragon  beau-pots.  '  They  are  drawn 
up  in  black  lines  along  the  eaves  and  above  the  stone- 
work of  Lincoln  Inn's  Gateway,  ready  to  start.  I 
bade  them  carry  my  loving  remembrance  to  Blois  if 
they  go  that  way.  But  how  can  even  swallows  think 
of  winter  to-day  ?' 

How  indeed !  The  sunlight  lies  warmly  aslant 
the  fields,  and  sets  the  fanes  on  the  City  roofs  and 
towers  glistening  like  the  dewdrops  on  the  grass. 
Not  a  leaf  has  dropped  from  the  dark  foliage  of  the 
trees.  Yet  in  another  month  we  shall  have  taken 
the  green  boughs  from  the  chimneys  to  make  room 
for  the  dancing  flames. 


VII 


OXFORD, 

April ',  1644. 

FOR  the  first  time  since  I  possessed  it  my  day-book 
has  accompanied  me  on  a  journey,  and  I  have  opened 
it  in  this  low-roofed,  panelled  chamber  of  Trinity 
College,  Oxon,  where  we  tarry,  having  brought  my 
brother  Will  hither.  He  left  Paul's  School  at  Easter, 
being  deemed  by  his  masters  ripe  for  the  University ; 
and  his  Latin  verse  and  love  of  Plato  and  of  books 
and  learning  in  general  having  ever  drawn  the  affec- 
tions of  Gabriel  to  Will  more  than  to  the  rest  of  my 
brothers  and  sisters,  he  proposed  placing  him  at 
his  own  expense  under  the  famous  old  Dr.  Kettle, 
president  of  Trinity  College,  which  was  my  husband's 
own  college  in  his  youth. 

This  kindness  has  greatly  relieved  my  father.    His 

music  pupils  falling  away  in  these  troubled  times,  he 

is  more  hard  put  to  it  than  ever  to  bring  up  his 

family  with  decent  advantages,  and  could  of  a  cer- 

[  142] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  143 

tainty  not  have  afforded  out  of  his  small  means  to 
send  Will  to  Oxford. 

Laurel  is  with  us,  Silence  being  content  to  let  her 
sister  out  of  her  sight  for  once,  and  to  stay  behind 
at  the  Gray  House  with  baby  Olave,  Marie,  and  Mrs. 
Miriam.  Silence  is  happier  in  London,  because  Hugh 
came  back  to  it  in  the  autumn  with  Lord  Essex, 
and  whether  he  be  for  Roundheads  or  Cavaliers,  'tis 
all  the  same  to  Silence  so  long  as  he  is  Hugh. 

We  lay  a  night  at  Kingston,  the  home  of  some 
maternal  kinswomen  of  Gabriel's,  whither  we  went 
by  water,  and  took  horse  from  Kingston  to  Oxford 
early  on  a  fair  April  morning. 

At  one  of  the  inns  by  the  road  on  the  other  side  of 
Windsor,  where  we  stopped  for  baiting  of  the  horses, 
we  met  coming  from  the  inn  parlour  a  young  lady 
with  dark  eyes  and  hair,  very  daintily  clad  in  a 
silver-laced  riding-dress,  a  long  feather  sweeping  from 
the  brim  of  her  wide  gray  hat. 

'  How  beautiful !'  murmured  Laurel  as  she  passed, 
ever  ready  to  admire  beauty  when  she  sees  it,  in 
either  man  or  woman. 

'  'Tis  Mrs.  John  Milton — I  know  'tis  she !'  ex- 
claimed Will,  in  some  excitement  at  his  knowledge. 
'  I  have  seen  her  when  I  went  to  borrow  a  Terence 
from  Edward  Phillips,  Mr.  Milton's  nephew,  at  their 
lodgings  in  St.  Bride's  Churchyard.' 


144  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'And  what  is  Mrs.  Milton  doing  at  a  roadside 
inn,  I  wonder,  apparently  unprotected  ?'  Gabriel  said, 
but  had  scarcely  spoken  the  words  before  the  lady 
re-entered  the  parlour  and  took  up  a  position  in  the 
window,  where  she  stood  drawing  her  gloves  on  and 
off,  and  twirling  her  riding-whip  with  nervous  im- 
patience; and  at  length,  as  if  moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  came  to  the  table  where  some  refresh- 
ment had  been  set  before  us,  and  exclaimed  in  a 
tuneful  voice : 

'  Sir,  madam,  pardon  my  freedom  in  throwing 
myself  on  your  courtesy  and  compassion.  I  am 
bound  for  my  mother's,  Mistress  Powell's,  house, 
near  the  camp  without  Oxford,  but  have  reasons  to 
mistrust  my  hired  escort.  May  I,  therefore,  if  you 
are  travelling  in  the  same  direction,  crave  your 
company  by  the  way  ?' 

Thus  we  took  under  our  wing  Mr.  Milton's  run- 
away wife,  for  with  great  frankness  she  chattered  to 
us  of  what  she  was  pleased  to  call  her  '  ill-matched 
union  '  with  the  poet,  as  we  rid  along  together  'twixt 
the  hawthorn  hedges  and  meadows,  silvered  o'er 
with  ladysmocks.  In  her  Oxfordshire  home  at 
Shotover,  said  she,  they  had  been  a  lively  party. 
Cavaliers  came  and  went,  and  she  had  been  used  to 
dancing  and  all  kinds  of  merriments.  The  change 
to  the  studious  Puritan  household,  in  narrow 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  145 

lodgings  in  St.  Bride's  Churchyard,  where  no  one 
visited  her,  gave  her  the  mopes,  and,  as  for  the 
ringing  of  the  church  bells,  and  the  cries  of  her 
husband's  pupils  when  they  were  whipped,  'twas 
enough,  she  vowed,  to  drive  her  crazed. 

'If  I  had  suffered  such  a  life  much  longer,  I 
should  have  ended  in  Bedlam,'  she  said.  '  I  prayed 
humbly  for  leave  to  visit  my  relations,  but  'twas 
not  granted ;  so,  you  see,  I  have  taken  French 
leave.' 

Methought  she  talked  too  lightly  of  so  grave  a 
step,  and  I  told  her  so ;  but  she  did  not  take  it  ill, 
only  laughed  and  chattered  the  more. 

When  we  neared  Oxford,  and  its  gray  spires  and 
towers  rose  before  us  out  of  the  green,  flat  country 
against  the  clear,  pearly  sky  of  late  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Milton  hailed  a  friend  in  a  young  officer  riding 
slowly  up  to  the  cross-roads  at  the  head  of  a  troop 
of  horse,  which,  from  the  dust  and  flecks  of  blood 
on  the  rider's  clothes,  appeared  to  have  been  lately 
engaged  in  a  skirmish. 

'  Captain  Gardiner  !'  cried  the  lady ;  '  'tis  really 
you  !  Then  I  need  not  bring  my  new  friends  out  of 
their  way  to  see  me  safely  to  Forest  Hill.' 

'  I  and  my  troopers  are  at  your  service,  madam,' 
answered  the  young  officer,  bowing  gracefully  over 
his  saddle.  '  I  am  bound  myself  for  Mistress 

TO 


146  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Powell's,  where  'tis  my  excellent  good  fortune  to  be 
quartered  this  night.' 

So  our  fellow-traveller  parted  from  us,  with  many 
pretty  words  of  thanks  for  the  protection  our 
companionship  had  afforded  her.  She  galloped 
gaily  away  with  the  Cavalier  officer,  his  love-locks 
floating  on  the  air  beside  her  dark  curls  and  plume. 
Before  they  disappeared  in  a  bend  of  the  road,  she 
turned  and  waved  to  us  with  her  whip. 

How  had  Mr.  Milton  come  to  woo  so  volatile  a 
creature,  thought  I.  Though  'tis  easy  to  understand 
the  eye  of  the  poet  who  writ  such  beauties  as 
'  II  Penseroso '  and  '  Lycidas  '  being  charmed  by  her 
loveliness  and  elegance,  one  can  but  wonder  how 
the  grave  writer  of  Puritan  tracts  on  Church  govern- 
ment and  other  serious  matters,  the  stern  task- 
master who  doth  whip  his  nephews  into  learning 
their  Greek,  could  suppose  that  any  happiness  was 
to  come  of  wedding  with  a  butterfly,  and  pinning  it 
down  in  a  cramped  lodging. 

Oxford  is  full  to  overflowing  with  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men.  'Tis  a  pleasure  to  my  husband 
to  show  us  the  ancient  colleges  and  halls,  whose 
gorgeous  services  of  plate  have  nearly  all  been 
melted  down  to  meet  the  King's  necessities.  There 
are  numberless  fine  pictures  and  painted  glass 
windows  to  be  seen  in  the  chapels,  and  music  to  be 


^AT  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  147 

heard  that  is  a  joy  to  the  ear  and  an  exaltation  to 
the  soul.  The  science  of  music  is  held  in  high 
esteem  here,  and  the  most  antique  kind  is  zealously 
studied  and  performed.  Sir  Oracle  is  acquainted 
with  the  leading  men  of  learning  and  science,  and 
has  much  to  do  during  our  short  stay  in  going  from 
college  to  college  to  visit  them.  Many  resemble  him 
in  being  too  moderate  to  attach  themselves  violently 
to  one  party  or  the  other,  and  hover  'twixt  the  two. 
They  discourse  on  Socinianism,  Erastianism,  Meta- 
physics, and  Alchemy,  as  if  war  were  not,  as  it  needs 
must  be,  the  absorbing  interest  of  the  hour. 

The  presence  of  the  Court  and  the  garrison  give 
this  seat  of  learning  a  curiously  unwonted  aspect, 
Gabriel  says.  Soldiers  swarm  in  the  streets,  and 
are  billeted  over  the  college  gates.  The  beautiful 
gardens  and  groves  are  filled  with  ladies  and 
courtiers  in  these  fair  spring  days.  The  Grove  of 
Trinity,  dubbed  Daphne  by  the  wits,  is  specially 
favoured,  whereat  the  president,  Dr.  Kettle,  is  not 
best  pleased.  There,  last  summer,  the  Lady  Isabella 
Thynne,  brightest  star  of  the  Court,  would  stroll, 
habited  in  a  scanty,  fantastic  garb,  said  to  be  cut 
after  the  pattern  of  that  worn  by  the  angels.  Per- 
fumes and  strains  of  soft  music  accompanied  her, 
supplied  by  her  page  and  singing-boy,  who  played 
the  theorbo  before  her.  Anne  Harrison,  now  lodged 

10 — 2 


148  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

with  her  sister  and  father  in  this  college  instead  of 
over  the  baker's,  seems  to  have  been  much  in  the 
Lady  Isabella's  society,  and  has  a  great  deal  to  tell 
me  of  the  escapades  she  has  led  her  into.  '  A  merry 
heart  goes  all  the  way,'  and  despite  poverty  and  the 
sad  sights  and  events  of  war,  one  affecting  her  so 
nearly  as  the  death  of  her  brother,  William  Harrison, 
who  was  killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse  in  a  skirmish 
at  the  end  of  last  year,  Anne  has  kept  a  merry  heart, 
or,  as  she  expresses  it,  been  merry  on  the  top 
of  cares.  Anne  is  to  be  married  in  May  to  Mr. 
Richard  Fanshawe,  a  gentleman  of  distant  kinship 
with  her  mother's  family,  whom  she  had  not  met 
till  she  came  to  Oxford.  Mr.  Fanshawe  has  been 
sworn  Secretary  of  War  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and, 
like  Anne's  father,  is  ready  for  any  risk  or  sacrifice  in 
the  King's  service. 

I  have  not  seen  Mr.  Fanshawe  yet,  but  Anne 
recounted  his  virtues  and  perfections  to  me  this 
morning  as  she  sat  in  her  old  favourite  attitude  on 
the  floor,  with  her  bright  head  leaning  against  my 
lap,  whilst  Gabriel  and  Laurel  were  gone  with  Will 
to  hear  the  psalms  sung  in  the  chapel. 

'  So  the  fairy  prince,  or  Apollo — which  is  it  ? — hath 
revealed  himself,'  said  I,  remembering  Anne's  words 
when  she  had  discovered  my  day-book,  and  vowed 
she  would  keep  a  journal,  too,  and  then,  on  second 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  149 

thoughts,  had  said  she  would  wait  till  she  was 
wed. 

'  He  is  not  exactly  one  or  t'other,'  she  answered, 
'  but  better  than  either,  and  his  match  is  not  to  be 
found.  I  will  prepare  you  for  the  sight  of  him,  so 
listen :  He  is  of  the  highest  height  of  men,  strong, 
and  of  the  best  proportion,  his  skin  exceeding  fair, 
his  hair  brown  and  very  curling,  but  not  long  ;  and 
methinks  in  this  respect  he  must  please  our  crusty 
Dr.  Kettle,  who  doth  so  hate  long  hair  and  periwigs 
that  he  hides  scissors  in  his  muff,  wherewith  to  shear 
the  scholars  in  his  house.  So  tell  your  Will  to  look 
to  his  love-locks,  if  he  has  any,  or  the  doctor  will 
certainly  snip  them.  I  go  in  mighty  dread  of  that 
venerable  personage,  since  my  Lady  Isabella,  for  a 
frolic,  induced  me  to  call  on  him  once  in  her 
company  to  play  off  a  trick  on  his  worthiness.  But 
I  forgot  what  the  trick  was  when,  in  the  terrible 
voice  and  manner  that  he  uses  to  scold  the  idle 
young  boys  of  his  college,  he  addressed  himself  to 
me,  saying  he  had  bred  up  my  father  here,  and  knew 
my  grandfather,  and  held  me  for  a  gentlewoman, 
and  "would  I  be  gone?"  I  shook  in  my  shoes,  I 
must  confess.' 

'  But  'twas  of  your  future  husband  you  were 
talking,  not  of  the  president,'  I  reminded  her ;  and 
she  went  on  to  say  that  she  was  indeed  proud  and 


ISO  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

happy  to  be  Dick  Fanshawe's  choice,  and  what  more 
did  I  want  to  know  than  that  he  was  the  most 
desirable  gentleman  in  the  world  ? 

'  We  may  truly  be  called  merchant  adventurers,' 
she  did  add,  '  for  the  stock  we  are  to  set  up  our 
trading  with  will  not  amount  to  £20  betwixt  us, 
my  promised  portion  and  Dick's  fortune  being  both 
in  expectation.  But  so  long  as  he  can  buy  pen,  ink, 
and  paper,  what  does  it  matter  ?  To  be  poor  is  the 
fashion. 

' "  We  do  not  suffer  here  alone  ; 

Though  we  are  beggared,  so's  the  King. 
'Tis  sin  to  have  wealth  when  he  has  none  : 
Since  poverty's  a  royal  thing." 

Hark  !  I  hear  the  president's  step,  surely.  One  can 
always  know  he's  coming,  for  he  drags  one  foot 
with  a  scraping  noise.  Young  Mr.  Egerton  mimics 
it  to  the  life.  Nay,  where  can  I  hide  myself  from  his 
awesome  presence  ?' 

But  Anne  showed  no  disposition  to  hide  herself 
when  the  doctor,  returning  from  chapel,  came  in 
with  Laurel  and  Gabriel.  Instead,  she  drew  herself 
erect,  looking  dazzling  fair  in  the  mourning  she  still 
wears  for  her  brother,  her  small  hands  toying  with  a 
branch  of  almond  blossom  she  had  plucked  from  the 
Grove.  The  ruddy  doctor,  gigantic  and  imposing  in 
his  surplice  and  hood,  gave  her  a  sharp  look  over  his 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  151 

spectacles,  then  smiled  on  her  benignly,  as  much  as 
to  say  he  had  taught  her  a  lesson  once  and  had  no 
wish  to  repeat  it. 

Anne  soon  made  an  excuse  to  carry  Laurel  off  to 
the  apartments  allotted  to  her  and  her  sister  Margaret 
in  another  wing  of  the  college. 

Dr.  Kettle  then  began  to  report  to  us  favourably 
on  Will's  Greek,  and  of  his  singing  of  the  Gospel  for 
the  day  in  the  Hall. 

'  He  promises  well,'  Dr.  Kettle  said  in  his  squeak- 
ing voice,  which  is  so  comically  out  of  proportion  to 
the  bulk  of  his  form.  '  Let  us  hope  he  won't  cast  off 
his  gown  and  run  away  with  the  soldiers  to  the  next 
battle.  These  civil  wars  are  proving  the  devastation 
of  scholarship.  They  will  shorten  my  life,  I  trow, 
which  you  will  believe  when  I  tell  you  that  a  rude 
foot-soldier  marched  impudently  to  my  desk  when  I 
was  giving  my  rhetoric  lecture  the  other  day  and 
broke  my  hour-glass.  What  are  we  coming  to  ? 
what  are  we  coming  to  ?' 

Gabriel  told  me  when  he  was  gone  that  the  good 
doctor  carried  his  hour-glass  wherever  he  went — into 
the  pulpit  and  the  lecture-room,  and  even  on  the 
back  of  his  bay  gelding,  when  he  rid  behind  his  man 
to  his  parsonage  at  Garstington — and  had  threatened 
the  youths  once  that  if  they  did  not  do  their  exercises 
better  he  would  bring  an  hour-glass  two  hours  long. 


152  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

TRINITY  COLLEGE,  OXON, 

May  Day. 

The  Maypoles  have  not  been  cut  down  here  as  in 
Puritan  London,  and  the  revels  began  betimes  in 
front  of  the  Mitre  tavern  this  morning.  The  May 
Queen  was  crowned  in  Christ  Church  meadows,  and 
carried  in  a  procession  of  hawthorn-decked  maidens 
and  swains  to  the  sound  of  flute  and  tabor  the  round 
of  the  colleges. 

In  the  afternoon  the  real  Queen  went  in  state  to  a 
performance  by  the  King's  players  of  Captain  Love- 
lace's '  Scholar '  at  Gloucester  Hall,  which  comedy 
has  not  been  seen  since  the  King's  visit  to  Oxford  in 
1636,  when  the  poet,  then  a  student  of  Gloucester 
Hall,  was  made  a  Master  of  Arts. 

To  the  play  we  were  cavaliered  by  my  brother 
Roger,  who  is  quartered  over  the  gate  at  Merton. 
After  Edgehill  fight,  to  which  he  went  on  foot, 
Roger  managed  to  equip  himself  with  armour,  a 
horse  and  servants,  and  to  get  his  commission  as  a 
lieutenant  of  dragoons.  But  he  would  have  me 
believe  that  his  distinguished  gallantry  in  the  last 
action  he  engaged  in  deserves  a  captaincy,  and  he 
wants  me  to  prevail  with  Gabriel  to  lend  him  a  sum 
of  money,  which  makes  me  fear  he  may  be  run  into 
debt. 

Roger  seems  to   know,  and  be  known  to,  divers 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  153 

people  in  Oxford,  and  pointed  out  several  notabilities 
to  me  and  Laurel  to-day  in  the  great  crowd  that 
thronged  Magdalen  Walk  after  the  play.  He,  too, 
like  Anne  Harrison,  talks  of  the  gay  doings  here  of 
last  summer — the  King's  summer  of  successes  in  the 
war  :  of  the  interludes  and  masques  played  by  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  the  Court  in  the  college  gardens ; 
of  parties  taking  boat  on  the  sunny  river  to  Fair 
Rosamond's  Bower ;  of  nights  given  up  to  dancing, 
music,  and  song ;  and  of  those  gallants  who,  taking 
part  in  the  festivities  and  revelry  one  day,  might 
the  next  be  lying  dead  in  some  blood-stained  grassy 
lane  or  dell,  slain  in  beating  up  the  enemy  without 
the  town. 

'  Tis  a  pity  you  didn't  bring  Will  to  college  then,' 
said  Roger,  '  for  things  were  livelier  than  they  are 
now.  The  King  has  taken  alarm  at  the  news  that 
Lord  Essex  has  recruited  his  army  and  designs  to 
swoop  down  on  Oxford  one  of  these  fine  days  and 
capture  His  Majesty's  person.  The  Queen  is  with 
child  again,  and  has  lost  her  sprightliness,  and  talks 
of  going  to  Exeter.  Didst  notice  she  scarce  smiled 
once  through  the  comedy  ?  Here  are  Prince  Rupert 
and  Prince  Maurice,  a  pair  of  giants,  and  mightily 
devoted  brothers  they  are.  The  Prince  hath  lost 
favour  with  the  Queen,  despite  his  most  heroic  relief 
of  Newark  in  March,  and  hath  enemies  plotting 


154  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

against  him  at  Court.  Do  you  know  why  'tis 
sparkish  to  wear  a  lace  cravat  ?  Because  His  High- 
ness, a-horseback  in  the  early  morning,  once  found 
the  air  chilly,  and  tied  his  lace  handkerchief  about 
his  throat,  and,  it  being  becoming,  all  the  mimics 
did  likewise.  Among  the  Prince's  detractors  is  not 
to  be  counted  gallant  Governor  Legge,  coming 
hither.  He  doth  worship  the  ground  the  Prince 
treads  on.  I  was  serving  under  Colonel  Will  Legge 
t'other  day  when  he  charged  the  Puritans  on  the 
bridge  at  Thame  and  beat  them  off  it  three  times, 
the  third  time  for  good.  See,  yonder  comes  the 
author  of  the  play,  Captain  Lovelace.  Why, 
Mistress  Laurel,  you  are  outblushing  the  deepest 
damask  rose  as  ever  I  saw !' 

'Twas  true  that  Laurel  changed  colour  as  Captain 
Lovelace,  whom  we  had  not  seen  again  in  London 
since  the  summer  in  which  we  made  his  acquaint- 
ance, passed,  doffing  his  hat  with  a  sweet,  grave 
smile  of  recognition. 

But  Roger's  remarking  on  her  blushes  in  so  out- 
spoken and  familiar  a  fashion  changed  the  look  of 
amusement  with  which  Laurel  had  been  listening  to 
his  gossip  into  an  angry  frown.  Yet  by  the  evening 
she  had  forgiven  Roger  enough  to  engage  with  him 
in  a  prank,  which,  if  I  had  known  aught  of  it,  I 
should  of  a  certainty  not  have  countenanced. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  155 

Gabriel  had  come  back  to  our  college  chambers 
from  a  blissful  afternoon  passed  amidst  the  manu- 
scripts in  the  Bodleian  Library,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Fanshawe,  who  is  as  great  a  devotee  of  poetry 
and  the  Muses  as  my  husband.  Mr.  Fanshawe  had 
with  him  the  little  copy  of  Sir  John  Denham's 
'  Cooper's  Hill,'  which  had  been  published  in  Oxford 
soon  after  the  Battle  of  Edgehill,  printed  on  curious 
brown  paper,  as  there  was  no  other  to  be  had. 
Gabriel  and  Mr.  Fanshawe  read  aloud  from  it  in 
turns,  and  I  listened,  unconcerned  at  Laurel's  absence, 
as  I  had  entrusted  her  to  Roger's  care,  to  show  her 
the  buildings  of  Oxford  by  moonlight,  the  May  night 
being  so  fair  and  radiant.  Now,  it  chanced,  as  Laurel 
told  me  later,  that  she  and  Roger,  starting  on  their 
promenade,  did  encounter  an  old  beggar  minstrel, 
very  decrepit  and  ragged,  playing  on  some  four- 
stringed  instrument  so  feebly  that  few  heeded  him  or 
threw  him  a  coin.  '  I  with  my  guitar,  and  you  with 
your  voice,'  said  Roger,  seeing  the  gaze  of  pity 
Laurel  cast  on  him, '  could  quickly  fill  that  old  man's 
hat  with  money ;'  and  he  forthwith  proposed  that 
they  two  should  disguise  themselves  in  humble  habits 
and  lead  the  old  man  betwixt  them,  to  make  music 
boldly  on  the  quadrangle  at  Christ  Church  before 
their  Majesties'  windows. 

Laurel,  methinks,  was  ready  enough  for  the  freak, 


156  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

and  let  herself  be  enveloped  by  a  peddling  woman  of 
Roger's  acquaintance  in  a  wide  hooded  cloak,  green 
from  shabbiness,  and  a  rustic  cotton  bonnet,  that 
shaded  her  face  from  inquisitive  inquiry.  Roger, 
with  the  aid  of  another  voluminous  cloak,  a  slouch 
hat  drawn  over  his  eyes,  and  a  few  deft  applica- 
tions of  burnt  cork  and  paint-brush  to  his  face 
and  hands,  had  succeeded  in  looking  as  much  the 
strolling  musician  as  their  ancient  companion. 

We  have  Roger's  word  for  it  that  Laurel  sang  as 
she  had  never  sung  before.  Secure  in  her  disguise, 
she  felt  no  shyness  at  bringing  even  the  King  from 
the  card-table  to  the  open  window,  and  hearing  the 
Queen's  exclamations  in  French  of  wonder  and 
delight. 

How  were  it  possible,  Her  Majesty  had  asked,  for 
one  singing  in  the  streets,  and  so  exposed  to  all 
weathers,  to  retain  such  adorable  freshness  of  voice, 
such  exquisitely  clear  and  bell-like  notes  ? 

'  Perchance  she  is  new  to  her  work,'  someone  had 
hazarded. 

'  But  not  new  to  her  art,'  said  another ;  '  the 
mastery  of  the  voice  is  more  wondrous  than  the 
voice  itself.' 

'  The  spirit  of  the  Maytime  was  in't  when  she  sang 
that  gay  roundel,  and  the  pathos  of  tragedy  in  the 
ballad  of  long  ago.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  157 

'  Singing  of  this  kind  is  too  good  for  village  fairs 
and  country  weddings.  Tis  worthy  to  be  heard  at 
Courts.' 

'  So  pure  an  accent  in  French  as  hers,  believe  me, 
was  never  heard  at  an  English  fair,'  the  Queen  had 
declared  when  Laurel  had  trilled  forth : 

'  Le  temps  s'en  va  ;  le  temps  s'en  va,  madame. 
Hdlas,  le  temps  non,  mais  nous  en  aliens.' 

And  not  compliments  alone  were  rained  upon  the 
wandering  musicians,  but  a  shower  of  silver  pieces, 
the  courtiers  flinging  all  their  winnings  of  the  evening 
at  cards  from  the  windows.  But  Captain  Lovelace 
must  have  been  losing,  not  winning,  for  after  the 
others  had  thrown  their  coins,  he  had  but  tossed  a 
flower  at  Laurel's  feet. 

'  And  the  flower,'  explained  Roger,  relating  his  share 
of  the  tale,  '  is  the  only  wage  our  lady  nightingale 
accepted  for  her  song.  The  rest  was  poured  into 
the  aged  minstrel's  hat — a  fortune  for  him  indeed.' 

'The  old  minstrel  was  grateful,  I  trust,'  said  I. 

Roger  would  have  said  '  Yes,'  and  ended  there ; 
but  Laurel,  always  frank  and  open  as  the  day,  had 
more  to  tell. 

'  Beneath  the  lanthorns  of  All  Souls'  Gateway,' 
she  said,  '  he  was  parting  from  us,  calling  down 
blessings  on  our  heads  in  the  same  quavering  voice 


158  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

with  which  he  had  first  addressed  us,  when  a  passer- 
by, looking  hard  at  him,  drew  near  and  rudely 
twitched  his  hair  and  beard,  and  hissed  in  his  ear, 
"Jesuit  dog,  sneaking  agent  of  the  Papists,  what 
game  are  you  playing  at  in  this  guise  ?"  then 
walked  on.  The  minstrel's  hair  was  a  wig,  his  beard 
false.  He  quickly  arranged  both  again  ;  but,  mother, 
I  had  seen  by  the  light  of  the  lanthorns  that  the 
colour  of  his  own  hair  was  red,  and  the  mouth 
beneath  the  false  beard  was  that  of  the  man  we  saw 
playing  a  match  at  bowls  with  Sir  John  Suckling  in 
Spring  Garden.  He  made  no  further  pretence  of 
being  the  old  musician,  but  dropped  the  role  at  once, 
and  said  in  his  natural  voice  :  "  Do  not  be  disgusted 
to  find  your  charity  hath  been  misplaced.  I  assure 
you  that  you  have  done  a  greater  service  than  you 
thought  for,  for,  instead  of  succouring  an  old  buffoon 
in  want,  you  have  served  the  King." 

'  And  if  'tis  true,'  Laurel  went  on,  with  kindling  eyes 
— 'if  I  have,  maybe,  really  done  the  King  some  uncon- 
scious service  in  this  manner,  as  the  Lady  d'Aubigny 
did  when  she  took  the  King's  commission  of  array  to 
London  without  knowing  what  'twas,  then  I  repent 
nothing  of  the  evening's  masquerade.  I  would  act  it 
all  over  again,  even  at  the  risk  of  incurring  yours  and 
my  father's  displeasure.  To  serve  the  King  !  How 
glorious  to  serve  the  King ! '  she  repeated,  fastening 


159 

in  her  bosom  Captain  Lovelace's  flower,  which  was  a 
fritillary,  a  fair  water-blossom,  such  as  grows  along 
the  banks  of  the  river  here  in  May  and  June. 

'  Oh,  you  should  have  been  there  and  seen  the 
King  to-night !  'Twas  like  a  dream  to  stand  singing 
beneath  the  starry  sky  with  the  shadows  of  turrets 
and  pinnacles  lying  on  the  sward,  all  silver  in  the 
moonbeams.  And  the  King,  the  King  stepped 
through  the  window  on  to  the  flags  to  listen,  with 
the  brightness  of  a  hundred  tapers  behind  him 
shining  on  jewels  and  rich  colours.  But  he  was  in 
white,  all  white  except  the  blue  riband  of  his  George, 
and  his  face  was  like  ivory,  and  looked  very  sad,  even 
when  he  smiled.  Ay,  I  wish  you  had  been  there, 
mother.' 

'  Yes,  Lovejoy,  you  should  have  been  there  to 
hear  the  piercing  anguish  Laurel  put  into  the  refrain, 
"  But  think  not  ye  my  heart  was  sair  ";  and  to  see 
the  effect  it  wrought  on  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
the .  Court,'  Roger  said,  his  jaunty  air  and  self- 
assurance  being  in  no  wise  abated  by  mine  and 
Gabriel's  strongly  expressed  disapproval  of  his 
escapade  with  Laurel.  I  have  wondered  whether 
Roger  was  in  the  secret  of  the  minstrel's  disguise, 
and  whether  he  knew  of  the  red  hair  beneath  the 
gray  wig ;  if  so,  his  conduct  would  be  all  the  more 
blameworthy,  methinks. 


160  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

May  1 8. 

We  have  stayed  longer  in  Oxford  than  we  first 
intended,  to  be  present  at  Anne  Harrison's  wedding, 
which  took  place  this  forenoon  in  the  little  country 
church  at  Wolvercott,  two  miles  away.  'Twas  Anne's 
express  desire  that  her  cousin  Young  and  I,  the  old 
and  true  friend  of  her  girlhood,  should  see  her  wed, 
and  Laurel,  too,  of  whom  she  is  very  fond.  Sir 
John  Harrison  sent  out  no  favours,  wishing  his 
daughter's  wedding  in  these  times  to  be  a  quiet 
one,  and  the  only  guests  beside  ourselves  in  the 
church  were  Sir  Edward  Hyde  and  the  King's 
Attorney,  Sir  Geoffrey  Palmer. 

Anne  should  be  a  lucky  bride,  for  the  golden  sun- 
beams seemed  to  delight  to  dance  on  her  as  she 
stood  at  the  altar  in  her  pearl-embroidered  bridal 
kirtle  and  overdress  of  lavender  taffeta,  the  gems 
shining  in  her  hair.  Her  tall  father  gave  her  to  her 
still  taller  husband,  and  she  was  married  with  her 
mother's  wedding-ring. 

The  laylocks  were  in  bloom  in  the  village  gardens, 
the  orchards  white  with  snowy  blossom,  and  the 
young  lambs  frisking  in  the  fields.  Yet  even  in  this 
scene  of  idyllic  peacefulness  we  could  not  long  forget 
the  alarums  of  war,  for  the  bridal  party,  coming  from 
the  church,  had  to  wait  to  let  a  company  of  foot 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  161 

march  by.  We  watched  them  over  the  churchyard 
wall,  and  the  captain  of  the  company,  being  ac- 
quainted with  Sir  John  Harrison,  ordered  a  volley  to 
be  fired  in  compliment  to  the  bride.  It  happened 
that  one  of  the  muskets  was  loaded,  and  a  brace  of 
bullets  passed  two  inches  above  her  head  and  buried 
themselves  in  the  cedar  under  whose  shade  Anne 
was  standing  to  look  at  the  soldiers.  The  happy 
smile  died  on  her  lips  in  that  moment  of  averted 
danger,  and  I  think  we  all  echoed  very  fervently  in 
our  hearts  the  '  Thank  God !'  of  her  husband  at  so 
narrow  and  merciful  an  escape. 

This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  write  my  journal  in 
Oxford.  There  is  great  uneasiness  in  the  town,  and 
some  people  fear  Lord  Essex  and  Sir  William  Waller 
may  carry  out  their  design  of  marching  from  London 
to  invest  it.  The  Queen  has  fled  to  Exeter,  and  dis- 
content and  jealousy  prevail.  The  Protestant  friends 
of  the  King  are  suspicious  of  the  number  of  Papists 
that  he  suffers  to  hang  about  here,  and  money  is 
scarce,  and  means  of  raising  it  scarcer. 

Welladay!  At  dawn  to-morrow  we  shall  have 
said  our  farewells  to  these  spires  and  towers  and 
gardens,  and  be  on  the  road  to  Windsor.  May  God 
prosper  our  journey,  and  bring  me  safely  home  to  my 
little  Olave,  whom  my  arms  ache  to  hold  again. 


ii 


VIII 


CHANCERY  LANE, 
January,  1645. 


ANOTHER  summer  and  autumn  have  passed,  and  the 
country  is  still  at  war.  The  great  battle  of  Marston 
Moor,  in  Yorkshire,  was  fought  in  July,  and  proved 
unexpectedly  a  victory  for  the  rebel  armies  of  English 
and  Scots  ;  but  in  Cornwall,  where  both  my  brother 
Roger  and  Hugh  L' Estrange  were  engaged  on 
different  sites,  Lord  Essex  was  badly  beat.  The 
King  builds  great  hopes  on  the  Queen,  who  is  in 
France,  sending  him  foreign  aid,  and  on  help  from 
the  Marquis  of  Montrose  and  his  Highlanders ;  he 
would  also  suffer  to  be  sent  troops  from  Ireland  over 
here  to  fight  for  him — a  step  the  very  contemplation 
of  which  some  who  are  most  loyal  and  devoted  to 
his  service  do  strongly  disapprove. 

Since  Mr.  Pym  died  and  was  buried  with  great 
honour   in   Westminster  Abbey,   bitter   dissensions 
have  arisen  in  the  enemy's  camp  'twixt  the  Pres- 
byterians and  the  Independents.     To  the  last-named 
[  162] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  163 

faction  belongs  the  firebrand  General  Oliver  Crom- 
well, who,  Sir  Oracle  says,  is  a  tower  of  strength  in 
the  ranks  of  the  King's  foes,  and  has  been  heard  to 
say  that  if  he  met  His  Majesty  in  combat  he  would 
as  soon  shoot  a  pistol  in  his  face  as  in  another's. 

Tis  maybe  because  the  winter  days  are  short  and 
the  evenings  long  that  mine  is  becoming  a  winter 
more  than  a  summer  journal.  This  is  the  fourth 
January  that  I  have  writ  in  it,  and  'tis  four  years 
since  I  married  and  left  my  old  home  in  Hart  Street. 
If  I  have  not  filled  some  of  these  blank  pages  with 
the  ups  and  downs  of  the  family  life  there  under 
Peg's  management,  'tis  because  the  record  would 
have  been  too  trivial  belike.  Peg's  reign  will  soon 
be  over,  for  she  is  bent  on  making  a  match  with  a 
young  apothecary  in  Aldersgate,  who  has  long  wooed 
her,  and  whom  she  hath  always  intended  to  fall  back 
on,  she  candidly  confesses,  if  the  flaxen  -  haired 
gallant  foretold  for  her  long  ago  at  Bartholomew 
Fair  did  not  make  his  appearance  in  reasonable  time. 
'Twas  with  some  reluctance  that  Peg  renounced  her 
romantic  dreams  and  arrived  at  her  present  prosaic 
conclusion  that  portionless  maids  like  Prue  and  her- 
self cannot  be  choosers,  because,  as  a  rule,  they  have 
no  choice,  and  if  they  would  fain  be  wed  must  take 
what  they  can  get. 

'  Even  you,  Lovejoy,  pink  of  perfection  that  you 

II — 2 


164  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

were,  had  but  one  suitor  whom  we  ever  knew  of,  and 
he  was  your  husband.  That  he  was  a  gentleman  of 
position  and  fortune  to  boot  was  a  piece  of  luck  ;  'tis 
not  likely  'twill  be  repeated  in  our  case.  'Tis  the 
Laurels  of  this  life  who  can  afford  to  say  first  they 
will  and  then  they  won't  to  a  score  or  more  of 
lovers.' 

Peg  sighed  as  she  delivered  herself  of  this  worldly 
wisdom,  and  then  proceeded  to  dust  with  vehemence 
the  harpsichon  and  the  piles  of  music-books  that 
have  increased  in  number  and  raggedness  in  the  buff 
wainscotted  parlour  since  my  day. 

I  was  seated  by  the  hearth  in  my  old  place  watch- 
ing Jane  and  Jack  at  play  with  their  nephew,  my 
little  Viking,  Olave.  I  had  brought  him  to  spend 
the  day  with  his  uncle  and  aunt,  who  are  mightily 
proud  of  Olave,  and  never  weary  of  amusing  him. 
They  were  building  castles  of  toy-bricks  on  the  floor, 
which  'twas  Olave's  joy  to  demolish  so  soon  as  the 
last  stone  was  put  on.  He  revelled  in  the  ruin 
wrought  by  his  fat  hands,  and  Jane  and  Jack  joined 
in  his  ecstasies  of  mirth  when  the  tall  towers  shook 
to  their  carpet  foundations  and  toppled  over  with  a 
crash. 

My  father,  coming  in  with  a  sheet  of  music  for  Prue 
to  copy,  hurried  and  preoccupied  as  usual,  his  dear 
face  pale  and  careworn,  heard  Olave  shout  with  glee  : 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  165 

'  I  knocked  it  down !  I  knocked  it  down  ! 
Huzzah !' 

'  The  Puritan  vandals  would  find  the  little  man 
after  their  own  hearts,'  said  he.  '  'Tis  their  brag 
and  boast  that  they  knock  things  down.  Since  they 
began  by  chipping  in  pieces  the  St.  Paul's  and  Cheap 
Crosses,  their  work  of  defacement  and  destruction 
hath  been  going  apace  merrily.  'Tis  a  marvel  that 
we  have  escaped  so  long,  but  methinks  our  hour  must 
be  near  now.  A  new  impetus  hath  been  given  to  the 
pillaging  and  sacking  of  churches  by  the  Parliament's 
last  formal  abolition  of  the  liturgy  yesterday,  and 
the  establishing  of  a  new  form  of  plain  worship  with- 
out music  by  the  so-called  divines  at  Westminster. 
There  will  soon  not  be  an  organ  left  undestroyed  in 
London,  and  my  vocation  will  be  gone.' 

That  his  augury  would,  on  the  instant,  be  shown 
to  be  well  founded,  my  father  could  not  have  known, 
but  so  it  was.  The  words  were  scarce  out  of  his 
mouth  before  a  violent  rapping  on  the  street-door 
was  followed  by  the  rude  entry  of  some  armed 
persons,  who  demanded  to  see  the  organist  of 
St.  Olave's.  They  pushed  by  Penelope,  and  came 
in  upon  us  in  the  parlour.  On  my  father  inquiring 
their  business,  one  answered  : 

'  We  are  officers  of  the  law,  and  the  law  now 
ordains  that  yonder  steeple-house  shall  be  cleared  of 


1 66  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

idols  and  mummery.  The  psalms  shall  be  sung 
without  the  grunts  and  groans  of  the  organ-pipes. 
If  you  are,  as  we  believe,  one  of  the  retainers  of  the 
Church  whose  function  it  has  been  to  assist  at  such 
profane  vanities,  we  advise  you  to  find  some  employ- 
ment less  offensive  to  the  Lord.  My  men  have  a 
warrant  to  cut  your  braying  instrument  in  ribbons 
ere  night.' 

'  Sirs !'  said  my  poor  father  in  anguish  at  the 
sentence  passed  on  the  organ  so  beloved  by  him,  and 
of  which  he  was  as  tender  and  solicitous  as  of  a 
creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  '  yours  is  an  odd  manner 
of  advancing  religion.  At  what  time  may  we  expect 
this  outrage  on  a  sacred  place  to  be  committed  ?' 

'  So  soon  as  the  neighbouring  edifice  of  All  Hallows 
has  been  cleared  of  idolatrous  images.  You  come 
next  on  the  list,'  was  the  answer.  '  All  your  choral 
books  are  to  be  burnt,  so  collect  them  if  you  like, 
and  save  us  the  trouble.' 

The  man's  eye  was  caught  by  the  title  of  the  music 
that  lay  open  on  the  harpsichon.  He  laid  rough 
hands  on  it,  and  read  aloud  in  a  sneering,  nasal 
twang : 

'  Psalms,  Songs,  and  Sonnets  of  Sadness  and  Piety 
made  into  Music  of  Five  Parts  by  William  Byrd,  one 
of  the  gents  of  the  Queen  Majesty's  Honourable 
Chapel.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  167 

In  his  ignorance  the  man  did  not  know  that 
Dr.  Byrd  lived  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign,  and 
thought  the  Queen  was  her  present  Majesty,  whom 
he  proceeded  to  denounce  in  unmeasured  language, 
working  himself  up  into  a  frenzy ;  so  that  he  tore 
page  after  page  from  the  music-book,  and  ended  by 
trampling  on  the  cover  as  he  left  the  room  with  his 
companions. 

Little  Olave,  much  affrighted  by  the  intruders' 
angry  voices  and  scowling  faces,  had  flown  into  my 
lap  aweeping,  whilst  Jane  and  Jack  clenched  their 
fists  as  with  a  desire  to  pummel  them  well.  Peg 
and  Prue,  old  Penelope,  and  the  cook-maid  drew 
round  my  father  in  tearful  distress,  and  even  Tim, 
who  hath  entered  on  his  apprenticeship  this  Christ- 
mas, was  indignant,  and  vowed  he  would  borrow  a 
musket  and  station  himself  at  the  church  door. 

'  Come,  children,'  said  my  father,  '  we  will  all  go 
across  to  the  church.  By  this  time  the  choristers 
will  be  there  to  practise  the  anthem ;  and  so  let  us 
take  a  last  reverent  farewell  of  the  friend  that  from 
your  tender  infancy  hath  helped  you  all  to  praise 
your  Creator  in  the  most  noble  services  of  song  and 
harmony  appointed  by  the  Church.' 

I  rose  at  once  with  Olave  in  my  arms,  and  walked 
beside  my  father  bareheaded  from  the  house  into  the 
bleak  outer  air,  the  others  following  us.  A  bitter 


i68  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

blast  swept  from  the  river  along  Crutched  Friars, 
and  met  our  faces  as  we  took  the  paved  path  through 
the  churchyard  beneath  the  leafless  trees. 

Along  this  path  how  often  as  a  tiny  child  I  skipped 
at  my  father's  side  on  weekdays,  ever  delighting  to 
be  with  him  when  he  went  to  the  organ  ;  and  on 
Sundays  I  came  demurely,  holding  my  mother's 
hand,  and  afterwards  when  she  died  'twas  my  turn 
to  lead  the  younger  ones  to  church  and  to  teach 
them  their  Prayer-Book,  and  to  behave  themselves 
with  reverence. 

St.  Olave's  is  for  me  sanctified  by  a  thousand 
memories,  besides  those  of  my  first  meeting  with 
my  husband  and  my  bridal,  and  to  me  and  my 
brothers  and  sisters  it  must  always  be  the  church 
of  all  churches.  Each  of  us  has  grown  up  to  love 
with  a  sense  of  personal  possession  the  brasses, 
tablets,  and  marble  tombs  with  their  carved  canopies 
and  Corinthian  pillars.  Other  churches,  such  as 
Great  St.  Helen's,  may  have  finer,  but  these  are 
dearest  to  us  because  the  first  we  knew. 

Sunday  after  Sunday  have  I  watched  the  sunlight 
coming  through  the  rich  colours  of  the  stained-glass 
windows  play  on  the  two  stone  figures  of  the  worthy 
aldermen  Andrew  and  Paul  Bayning,  kneeling  there 
so  dignified  and  composed  in  their  ruffs  and  chains. 
And  when  'twas  hot  and  the  sermon  long,  to  keep 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  169 

my  drowsy  lids  from  falling  I  have  oft  spelt  out  to 
myself  and  puzzled  over  the  quaint  words  on  John 
Orgone  the  woollen-draper's  brass : 

'As  I  was,  so  be  ye  ; 
As  I  am  you  shall  be  ; 
That  I  gave,  that  I  have ; 
That  I  spent,  that  I  had. 
Thus  I  end  all  my  cost  ; 
That  I  have,  that  I  lost.' 

All  of  us  in  our  childhood  had  our  own  chosen 
favourite  among  the  monuments.  Jane  and  Jack 
have  followed  my  example,  and  love  most  the 
brothers  Bayning.  Peg  and  Prue's  special  fondness 
was  for  Sir  James  Deane,  on  his  knees  above  the 
vestry  door  with  his  heraldic  bearings  and  his  three 
wives ;  the  two  who  died  before  him  holding  skulls 
in  their  hands,  the  poor  babes  that  had  not  outlived 
their  chrisom  robes  lying  swaddled  at  their  feet. 
The  Florentine  gentleman  sculptured  in  alabaster, 
beneath  a  fair  canopy  in  a  kneeling  attitude  with 
folded  hands,  is  the  best-beloved  of  Will  and  Tim. 

Anne  Harrison  used  to  say  she  preferred  her  name- 
sake, the  Dame  Anne  Radcliffe,  with  her  wimple 
and  long  robes,  praying  so  calmfully  in  profile  at  a 
desk  in  a  niche  on  the  south  side  of  the  altar. 

I  thought  of  Anne  to-day  as  we  passed  into  the 
church  on  the  sad  errand  of  listening  to  the  doomed 
organ  for  the  last  time,  of  how  regularly  on  Sundays 


i?o  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

and  holy-days  through  the  winter  months  she  had 
come  with  that  sweet  pious  lady,  her  mother,  to  the 
Lord  Dingwall's  pew,  and  taken  part  in  the  services 
with  a  seriousness  of  which  one  could  scarce  have 
thought  so  restless  and  merry  a  maid  capable.  In 
St.  Olave's,  too,  worshipped  her  godmothers,  the 
Lady  Alston  and  the  Lady  Wolstenholm,  who  came 
to  church  in  much  magnificence,  their  blackamoors 
bearing  their  essence  bottles  and  Prayer-Books  with 
jewelled  clasps.  And  when  the  congregation  poured 
out  into  the  graveyard  Anne  always  bounded  up  to 
tell  me  all  that  had  happened  since  I  saw  her,  which 
may  have  been  but  the  day  before,  and  stoop  to  kiss 
Jane  and  Jack.  Now  no  one  has  to  stoop  far  to  kiss 
Jack,  he  is  so  grown,  and  he  thinks  himself  too  big  a 
man  to  be  kissed  at  all.  But  he  hath  still  a  cherubic 
look  in  his  white  surplice  as  he  sings  in  the  choir. 
Did  I  say  '  sings  '  ?  There  is  no  choir  now,  and 
strange  that  I  should  forget  and  speak  in  the  present 
instead  of  the  past  tense,  after  the  events  of  this  day. 
On  entering  the  church  we  found  that  our  Vicar 
had  gathered  the  choristers  together,  and  prepared 
them  for  what  was  coming.  He,  too,  has  fallen  on 
evil  days,  for  he  hath  been  ejected  from  his  cure,  and 
some  fanatical,  sectarian  Brownist  or  Anabaptist  (I 
know  not  one  from  t'other)  licensed  instead  to  lecture 
from  his  pulpit.  With  us  for  congregation  the  Vicar, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  iji 

surpliced  and  hooded,  read  the  prayers,  and  then  my 
father  struck  up  the  anthem,  and  Dr.  John  Bull's 
mellow  harmonies  pealed  forth  and  flooded  the 
aisles,  and  echoed  in  the  arches  of  the  timbered 
roof.  It  may  have  been  fancy,  but  never  before 
had  the  organ  seemed  to  stir  the  soul  and  touch 
the  heart  as  now,  never  had  the  silvery  voices  of 
the  boys  sounded  purer  and  more  divine. 

The  Amen  had  hardly  died  away  when  the  band 
of  destroyers  burst  into  the  choir  from  the  vestry 
door.  My  father's  hand  still  lingered  on  the  organ 
keys,  and  he  bowed  his  head  over  them  without 
moving  from  his  stool.  But  'twas  the  work  of  a 
moment  for  the  leader  of  the  desecrating  party,  a 
tall  fellow  who  had  the  appearance  of  being  a  black- 
smith, with  a  heavy  jaw  and  mighty  length  and 
strength  of  arm,  to  take  my  father  by  the  shoulders 
and  push  him  out  of  his  way.  Then  they  fell  on  the 
organ  furiously,  battering  its  pipes  with  crowbars  and 
ripping  the  bellows  with  their  swords.  They  laughed 
that  frightful,  mirthless,  Puritanical  laugh  which 
methinks  is  the  only  merriment  their  creed  permits, 
at  our  beloved  organ's  expiring  groans  that  so  wrung 
our  hearts  that  we  cried  for  it  as  bitterly  as  for  a 
human  creature  in  agony.  The  massacre  was  soon 
accomplished,  and  they  next  went  to  ransack  the 
vestry  for  choral  books,  and  despoiled  the  choir-desks. 


172  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

But  when  they  thought  by  way  of  finishing  to  use 
their  hammers  on  the  tombs,  they  met  with  oppo- 
sition. Up  leaped  Jack  and  Jane,  their  eyes  ablaze, 
one  brandishing  a  broom  and  the  other  a  poker,  and 
mounted  guard  in  front  of  the  figures  of  the  brothers 
Bayning;  and  in  the  chancel  the  choristers  had 
likewise  armed  themselves  with  the  same  sort  of 
weapons,  and  stood  on  the  defensive  before  the  altar 
and  Lady  Anne  Radcliffe. 

Whether  'twas  the  sharp  blows  from  broomsticks 
gotten  in  their  faces  when  they  approached  the  tombs, 
I  cannot  say,  but  the  Puritans  agreed  that  there  was 
other  work  on  hand  in  the  way  of  organ-wrecking 
that  was  more  urgent  than  chipping  the  noses  from 
St.  Olave's  idolatrous  images,  as  they  were  pleased  to 
express  it,  and  so  they  withdrew  with  their  hammers 
and  chisels,  leaving  us  to  bemoan  the  ruin  they  left 
behind  them. 

'Wicked,  naughty  men!'  whispered  little  Olave, 
who  had  watched  the  scene  of  vandalism  with  big, 
wondering  blue  eyes.  '  Naughty  men  to  talk  and 
fight  in  church  !' 

I  thank  God  that  my  boy  is  too  young  to  carry 
the  memory  of  what  he  has  seen  to-day  into  man- 
hood. My  father,  whose  footstep  had  been  brave 
and  firm  when  we  had  come  across  to  the  church, 
tottered  as  we  went  out  again  into  the  chill  dusk 


DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  ORGAN  OF  ST.  OLAVE'S. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  173 

of  the  winter's  afternoon,  and  he  took  my  arm  for 
support. 

I  gave  Olave  over  to  his  aunts  and  led  my  poor 
crushed  father  to  his  study,  where,  after  bidding 
Penelope  bring  him  a  hot  herb  posset,  I  devoted 
myself  as  best  I  could  to  his  consolation. 

'  What  is  to  be  done,  child  ?'  said  he.  '  What  new 
trade  can  I  learn  at  my  age  now  that  music  is  taken 
from  me?' 

'There  are  the  pupils,'  said  I. 

'The  pupils  have  fallen  away.  I  can  boast  but 
two  for  the  coming  year,  and  one  was  for  the  organ. 
Nay,  I  cannot  make  a  living  out  of  a  single  pupil. 
'Tis  well  thou  art  comfortably  established  with  so 
liberal  and  honest  a  gentleman  for  your  husband ; 
and  Peg  has  her  apothecary:  the  sooner  they  wed  the 
better.  Would  that  I  could  foresee  as  good  a  pro- 
vision for  Prue.' 

'  But,  father,'  I  exclaimed,  '  you  need  that  Prue 
should  stay  to  take  care  of  you.  Jane  is  too  young. 
I  will  consult  Gabriel.  Gabriel  will  help  you,  father, 
belike  to  some  post  at  Oxford,  for  Oxford  is  the 
refuge  of  musicians  now,  as  'tis  of  Royalists.' 

'  You  must  take  care,  child,  not  to  burden  thy 
husband's  shoulders  too  heavily  with  our  troubles. 
Remember,  when  he  married  thee  he  did  not  marry 
all.' 


174  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

He  smiled  faintly,  and  then  sank  wearily  back  in 
his  chair. 

I  noticed  that  his  black  taffeta  coat  was  dusty,  and 
the  lace  bands  were  ragged ;  not  from  age,  for  I  had 
given  him  new  ones  but  a  short  time  since,  but 
from  want  of  careful  mending  and  washing.  Peg 
methought  was  to  blame  for  this  and  the  neglect  of 
other  small  duties  which  contribute  to  keep  up  the 
appearances  and  comfort  of  a  household  ;  maybe  the 
prospect  of  having  a  house  of  her  own  has  of  late  put 
these  things  out  of  Peg's  head.  'Twas  sad  to  leave 
my  father  in  so  deep  a  dejection  of  spirits,  and  I 
promised  them  I  would  return  to  Hart  Street  to- 
morrow early,  to  see  how  he  fared. 

As  I  rid  back  to  Chancery  Lane  with  Olave  in 
the  hackney-coach  which  Juan  called  for  me,  the 
news  was  being  cried  abroad  in  the  streets  that  the 
Archbishop,  who  hath  languished  a  prisoner  these 
four  years  in  the  Tower,  was  to  suffer  death  on  the 
morrow.  During  his  lengthy  trial,  which  began  in 
the  autumn,  the  old  man  has  been  dragged  forth 
from  his  cell  daily  to  Westminster,  and  hath  argued 
in  his  own  defence  with  unflagging  courage.  But  on 
January  3  the  Lords  passed  the  Bill  of  Attainder 
against  him,  and  he  began  to  prepare  for  death.  His 
petition  to  be  beheaded  instead  of  hung  has  been 
granted.  He  will  have  thus  lived  just  long  enough 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  175 

to  know  of  the  abandoning  of  the  Book  of  Liturgy 
by  law,  the  liturgy  that  at  the  beginning  of  these 
troubles  he  would  fain  have  thrust  upon  the  Scots. 

January  10. 

This  morning,  on  coming  to  Hart  Street  with 
Laurel,  early  as  'twas,  a  visitor  had  been  admitted 
before  us. 

'  Mistress  Travers  is  in  the  study  with  father 
making  her  condolences,'  Peg  announced  with  much 
calmness,  considering  what  a  bugbear  the  very  name 
of  the  widow  had  once  been. 

"Tis  such  months,  nay,  years  since  she  hath 
darkened  our  doors,'  explained  Prue.  '  Her  appear- 
ance took  us  quite  unawares,  and  all  our  old  weapons 
of  defence  were  rusty.  She  walked  in,  and  there  she 
is  purring  and  cooing,  as  if  there  had  never  been  the 
least  estrangement  'twixt  us.' 

'  'Tis  well  Jack  was  gone  to  school,  or  she  would 
have  kissed  him  for  certain  as  she  was  wont  to  do,' 
said  Jane,  '  and  wouldn't  he  have  been  angry !' 

At  this  moment  Mistress  Travers  rustled  forth 
from  the  study  into  the  parlour,  took  me  in  her  ample 
embrace,  which  astonished  me  not  a  little,  as  I  have 
never  invited  her  to  Chancery  Lane,  and  heaped 
flatteries  on  my  stepdaughter,  declaring  that  she 
had  not  known  her  to  possess  such  striking  beauty. 


176  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  I  fear  your  poor  dear  father  feels  sorely  the  pro- 
ceedings of  yesterday,'  she  went  on.  '  'Tis  unfortu- 
nate that  such  doings  should  be  deemed  necessary.  I 
have  been  telling  him  that  my  chamber-organ  is  at 
his  disposal  for  his  lessons  if  he  wills.  I  cannot  see, 
for  my  part,  how  music  interferes  with  patriotism 
and  the  cause  of  public  liberty,  which  from  tradition 
I  uphold — as  is  but  natural,  my  great-grandfather 
having  been  Lord  Mayor.  Mr.  Milton,  in  his  plea 
for  unlicensed  printing — and  I  suppose  you  have  all 
read  it — has  something  to  say  about  music,  which 
shows  he  sees  no  sinfulness  in  singing  and  the 
playing  of  instruments,  for  does  he  not  speak  of 
the  airs  and  madrigals  that  whisper  softness  in 
chambers  ?' 

She  has  a  way  of  putting  her  head  inquiringly 
from  side  to  side  as  she  talks,  which  makes  one  think 
of  a  sparrow  twittering.  As  for  her  great-grandfather, 
who  was  once  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  Mistress 
Travers  was  ever  prone  to  bring  him  into  her  con- 
verse by  hook  or  by  crook,  though  of  old  'twas  not 
in  connection  with  such  high-sounding  phrases  as 
patriotism  and  the  cause  of  public  liberty. 

'  Mr.  Milton,  to  whom  'twould  seem  you  pin  your 
faith,  madam,'  said  I,  *  must  indeed  find  it  difficult 
to  countenance  the  scenes  of  desecration  going  on  at 
present  in  the  churches,  authorized  by  the  party  for 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  177 

whom  he  wields  his  pen,  unless  he  hath  forgot  that 
he  ever  writ  : 

'  "  There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below, 
In  service  high,  and  anthems  clear, 
As  may  with  sweetness,  through  my  ear, 
Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies."  ' 

'  How  sweetly  you  quote  those  lines!'  said  Mistress 
Travers,  with  her  eternal  smile  of  sugar.  '  Dear 
Mrs.  Lovejoy,  if  we  cannot  think  alike,  at  least  we 
need  not  quarrel.' 

'  I  hope,  madam,  I  have  shown  no  disposition  to 
be  quarrelsome,'  I  answered  with  stiffness;  yet  feeling 
somehow  that  the  widow  had  gained  ground  to-day, 
which  she  would  not  readily  let  slip  from  beneath 
her  feet. 

She  even  had  the  daring  to  chuck  Prue  under  the 
chin,  and  inquire  archly  when  she  intended  to  follow 
Peg's  example.  Prue  flushed  angrily,  and  said  she 
did  not  understand  her  meaning,  but  Peg  looked 
pleased  on  madam  continuing  that  she  knew  her 
lover,  Master  Bagshaw,  by  repute. 

'  I  hear  that  he  is  very  free  from  that  fashionable 
vice  of  being  a  good  fellow,'  she  said.  '  Doubtless 
richer  are  to  be  had,  but  a  civiller,  soberer  man 
hardly  to  be  found.' 

'  If  nothing  more  is  to  be  said  in  his  favour  than 

12 


178  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

that,'  Prue  said,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  '  I  am 
not  envious  to  stand  in  Peg's  shoes.  To  my  taste 
civility  and  sobriety  are  but  commonplace  virtues.' 

'  Prue,  Prue !  I  see  you  are  the  same  pert  little 
mischief  as  ever,'  Mistress  Travers  made  answer, 
determined  not  to  take  pet  at  anything  to-day.  Then 
she  remarked  on  Jane's  rapid  growth,  and  added  in  a 
whisper  quite  loud  enough  for  Jane  to  hear,  '  And  she 
promises  to  be  the  handsomest  of  a  handsome  family.' 
'  I  hate  flattery,'  Jane  said,  and  twitched  herself 
away  from  the  widow's  caressing  hand. 

'  Welladay !  I  must  be  flying  home,'  said  the 
portly  lady,  rising  at  length  from  the  settle  by  the 
hearth.  '  I  will  send  a  servant  over  with  a  bottle  of 
old  Canary  wine  for  your  dear  father's  heartening  and 
comfort.  'Twas  bottled  during  the  mayoralty  of  my 
great-grandfather,  so  I  need  not  say  'tis  of  the  best.' 
'  Was  her  great-grandfather  Lord  Mayor  before 
Sir  Richard  Whittington,  or  after,  I  wonder?'  Prue 
said,  when  she  was  really  gone. 

'  Prue,  Prue !  I  see  you  are  the  same  pert  little 
mischief  as  ever!'  cried  Jane,  shaking  her  finger  at 
Prue,  and  mimicking  to  the  life  Mistress  Travers' 
soft  voice  and  wheedling  air. 

At  this  point  my  father  came  in,  his  mien  very  sad 
and  grave.  Laurel  ran  to  him,  and,  taking  his 
hand,  exclaimed  : 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  179 

'  Dear  master,  I  know  not  how  to  express  my  grief 
for  you,  and  indignation  at  the  work  of  those  sancti- 
monious villains.  Oh,  that  they  could  be  punished 
as  they  deserve  !' 

'  Ah,  sweet  Mistress  Laurel,  they  can  wreck  organs, 
but  they  are  powerless  to  lay  rude  hands  on  that 
choicest  instrument  of  God's  making,  the  human 
voice ;  so  they  cannot  deprive  me  of  the  guardianship 
of  yours.' 

'  But  what  can  my  voice  be  to  you  compared 
with  the  mighty  grandeur  and  majesty  of  the 
organ's?  It  requires  no  stops  and  pedals;  you 
cannot  play  on't.  And  you  have  taught  me  so 
well  to  control  it,  though  methinks  I  require  many 
more  lessons.' 

'  Rather  should  you  say,  that  you  have  learned 
so  well  you  need  no  more  instruction.  'Tis  true 
enow  I  have  no  more  to  teach  you,  yet  that  doth 
not  take  from  my  delight  in  hearing  you  sing.'  Still 
holding  Laurel's  hand,  my  fath'er  turned  to  us.  *  I 
trust,'  said  he,  *  you  all  showed  good  Mistress  Travers 
courteous  civility.  Whatever  her  faults  may  be,  she 
means  well,  and  'twas  kind  of  her  to  come  to  us  in 
the  time  of  perplexity  and  trouble.'  Then,  glancing 
at  the  timepiece  on  the  chimney,  my  father  added : 
'  'Tis  twelve  of  the  clock.  The  hour  my  Lord  Arch- 
bishop pays  the  penalty  at  the  block  of  his  loyalty 

12 — 2 


i8o  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

to  Church  and  King.     Come,  let  us  ascend  to  the 
wooden  gallery  and  look  out  towards  Tower  Hill.' 

As  near  five  years  before  we  had  gone  to  stand  there 
in  the  May  sunshine  to  see  the  vast  crowd  flocking  from 
the  execution  of  Lord  Strafford,  so  now  we  stood  in 
the  bleak  winter  air  beneath  a  leaden  sky  on  the 
little  balcony  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  beheld  a 
yet  vaster  crowd  surging  like  a  sea  around  the  little 
island  of  the  scaffold,  that  we  could  just  discern. 
Every  street  near  and  every  window  casement  was 
black  with  people.  Silently  we  gazed,  well  able  to 
picture,  though  we  were  too  far  off  to  see,  how  the 
short  stout  figure  of  Archbishop  Laud  faced  that 
mob  tumbling  and  jostling  so  close  on  his  feet  that, 
as  we  were  afterwards  told,  they  hardly  gave  him 
space  enough  whereon  to  kneel  to  say  his  last 
prayers.  The  street  below  was  so  quiet  and  deserted 
that  no  noise  came  'twixt  us  and  the  murmuring 
roar  sent  up  by  the  people,  which  told  the  axe  had 
fallen.  Slowly  the  crowds  began  moving  in  all  direc- 
tions like  long  lines  of  ants,  and  my  father,  with  a 
sob  and  his  hands  before  his  face,  went  back  into 

the  house. 

February. 

Hugh  1'Estrange  was  with  us  on  Sunday,  and 
Silence  deserted  Olave  and  the  nursery.  Hugh's 
train-band  belonging  to  the  '  Yellow  Regiment '  is 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  181 

to  serve  still  in  the  remodelled  army  of  the  Inde- 
pendents under  Major  -  General  Skippon,  who  is 
second  in  command  to  the  new  Commander-in- 
Chief,  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  now  at  Windsor.  Such 
strenuous  preparations  for  carrying  on  the  war 
make  the  Presbyterians'  negotiations  for  peace  with 
the  King  at  Uxbridge  a  mere  farce,  but  the  farce 
begun  in  November  still  drags  on. 

Nothing  could  be  in  greater  contrast  to  my  brother 
Roger's  loquacity  with  regard  to  his  own  and  others 
deeds  of  daring  and  hairbreadth  escapes  than  Hugh's 
reserve.  Of  his  own  freewill  he  speaks  not  at  all  of 
the  service  he  has  seen  in  the  Parliamentary  ranks, 
and  he  answers  every  question  as  briefly  as  possible. 
Yet  methinks  a  new  light  burns  in  his  eyes,  the  light 
of  a  repressed  enthusiasm,  and  the  lines  of  his  well- 
cut  lips  and  chin  have  become  more  resolutely  set. 

The  piece  of  work  on  which  Silence  plied  her 
needle  for  so  many  months  in  secret  was  her  gift  to 
me  at  Christmastide.  When  Hugh  saw  it  for  the 
first  time  his  admiring  wonder  and  pleasure  were  as 
great  as  mine.  Of  industry  alone  'twas  a  miracle, 
and  what  phantasy,  what  rare  colours,  and  divers 
stitches  are  wrought  into  the  picture,  which  verily 
would  not  pale  in  glory  if  hung  beside  the  choicest 
work  of  the  tapestry  makers  at  Mortlake. 

The  story  that  Silence  hath  thus  illustrated  with 


i82  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

her  needle  is  the  legend  of  St.  Olave's,  which  I 
related  to  Laurel  soon  after  they  came  from  Blois, 
when  I  took  her  first  to  Hart  Street.  Laurel  writ  it 
for  Silence  on  her  tablets ;  but  even  Laurel  never 
guessed  how  deeply  Silence  was  impressed  by  the 
old  story  till  she  revealed  her  masterpiece  to  our 
astonished  eyes. 

In  fair  worked  letters  of  antique  shape  beneath 
each  division  of  the  picture  the  text  is  given,  and 
tells  how  '  there  was  once  in  Valois,  in  France,  a 
cripple  so  infirm  that  he  went  on  knees  and  knuckles, 
and  one  day  the  cripple  fell  asleep  by  the  roadside 
and  dreamed  that  a  man  of  worshipful  mien  came  to 
him,  and  said :  "  Go  to  Olaf  s  Church  in  London, 
and  there  you  will  be  cured."  On  waking  he  set  off 
in  quest  of  Olaf's  Church.  Coming  to  London 
Bridge,  he  asked  the  citizens  where  the  church 
was.  And  they  answered,  there  were  many  more 
St.  Olafs  Churches  than  they  could  tell.  Then 
a  man  asked  the  cripple  where  he  was  going,  and 
when  he  said  he  would  fare  to  Olafs  Church,  they 
fared  together  over  the  bridge  and  along  the  street 
that  led  to  that  church.  And  at  the  gate  of  the 
church  the  other  strode  over  the  threshold  and 
vanished,  but  the  cripple  rolled  himself  over  and 
over,  and  rose  up  whole.' 

In  the  first  part   of  Silence's   picture,  which   is 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  183 

something  in  the  form  of  a  triptych,  the  figure  of  the 
cripple  is  shown  asleep,  with  the  Stranger  standing 
over  him,  a  halo,  scarce  visible,  wrought  in  finest 
gold  thread  round  His  head,  and  behind  are  houses 
with  green  shutters  and  red  roofs,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  houses  of  Blois,  Laurel  says.  In  the  second 
scene,  he  is  faring,  '  on  knees  and  knuckles,'  across 
London  Bridge,  over  the  winding  Thames,  with  the 
same  faintly-haloed  Stranger  beside  him.  And,  in 
the  third,  he  is  standing  upright  in  the  porch  of 
St.  Olave's,  with  a  gladsome  look  on  his  face,  and 
his  thin  hands  raised  in  thankfulness. 

Often  was  I  used  to  tell  this  miraculous  tale  to 
Jane  and  Jack  in  the  shade  of  the  elms  in  summer 
and  by  the  fireside  in  winter  but  it  did  not  appeal 
to  them,  sound  in  their  limbs  and  senses,  as  it  has 
since  done  to  poor  mute  Silence,  who  in  her  child- 
hood's prayers,  her  gentlewoman  hath  told  me,  ever 
prayed  that  speech  and  hearing  might  be  given  to 
her  by  some  miracle  from  heaven,  and  that  Hugh's 
shoulders  might  be  made  even.  Sturdy  Jack  and 
Jane  loved  much  better  to  hear  of  Olave  the  Viking 
than  Olave  the  Saint,  their  favourite  being  the  story 
of  how  Olave  destroyed  the  bridge  his  enemies  had 
built  over  the  Thames. 

Silence's    needlework   picture,   framed   in   carven 


1 84  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

ebony  and  gold,  hangs  in  my  carnation  closet, 
whither  Hugh  came  to  look  at  it.  He  said  that  he 
had  never  been  here  before,  and  of  a  sudden  my 
conscience  smote  me  at  the  thought  of  how  little  I 
seem  to  have  won  Hugh's  confidence  in  the  years  I 
have  known  him.  Had  I,  belike,  in  my  anxiety  to 
banish  all  constraint  'twixt  myself  and  my  husband's 
own  children,  been  neglectful  of  his  foster-son  ? 

I  begged  him  now  to  sit  down,  and  asked  him 
about  Master  Haynes  and  his  horoscopes,  and  his 
own  pursuits,  so  interrupted  by  the  wars,  and* 
whilst  he  talked  of  these  things  easily,  I  fain  would 
have  read  his  heart. 

Once  more  he  got  up  and  examined  the  details  of 
Silence's  handiwork.  He  laughed  at  the  bushy  little 
dog  she  had  introduced  standing  on  its  hind  legs  in 
the  foreign  street,  as  if  to  mock  at  the  poor  cripple 
who  went  on  all  fours.  Then,  with  a  sigh,  he  said  : 

'  'Twas  begun  at  the  same  time  as  I  did  begin  to 
construct  my  dial ;  but  Silence  has  brought  her 
work  to  completion,  whereas  mine  remains  but  a 
beginning  still.' 

*  That  is  because  you  went  a-soldiering,'  said  I. 
*  When  there's  peace  you  will  have  time  to  work  at 
it  again.  How  rejoiced  Silence  will  be  to  see  your 
dial  finished  !' 

'  I  fear  it  may  displease  her,'  he  answered.     '  You 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  185 

see,  'tis  to  be  dial  and  clock  combined.  'Twill  tell 
what  time  'tis  at  Great  Cairo  and  Jerusalem,  and  I 
have  conceived  a  plan  of  mechanism  by  which  it 
shall  strike  the  hours  and  play  an  air  of  music 
withal.  Silence  will  not  approve  of  that,  for  she  so 
dislikes  music.  But  to  leave  it  out  would  be  to 
sacrifice  the  most  cherished  part  of  the  design. 
Dearly  as  I  love  my  foster-sister,  I  could  not  make 
the  sacrifice  for  her  sake.' 

'  Wondrous  strong  is  the  love  Silence  hath  for 
you,'  I  said.  '  Methinks  few  brothers  are  so  loved 
by  their  sisters.' 

'  God  bless  her  for  it !  Were  she  verily  my  sister, 
I  could  not  feel  more  tenderly  towards  her.  But,' 
he  added,  '  there  is  another  kind  of  love.' 

'  And  do  you  know  aught  of  that  ?'  I  asked  him. 

'  Yes,'  said  he. 

His  honest  red-brown  eyes  looked  straight  into 
mine,  as  if  he  would  fain  invite  me  to  guess  his 
secret. 

'  Mistress  Margaret  ?' 

The  words  leapt  to  my  lips  ere  I  could  withhold 
them. 

He  shook  his  head. 

'  Mistress  Margaret  Haynes  is  my  spiritual  sister. 
'Tis  she  who  hath  turned  my  thoughts  to  things 
higher  than  this  earth,  and  shown  me  the  beauty  of 


186  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

holiness.  I  must  ever  reverence  her  for  that  and 
for  her  own  sweet  piety.  To  love  her  is  the  same  as 
loving  God's  saints.' 

'Twas  Laurel,  then,  thought  I — Laurel,  whom  he 
had  not  mentioned  when  he  talked  of  Silence  as  his 
foster-sister ;  Laurel,  whose  demeanour  towards  him 
had  become  so  proud  and  distant — 'twas  she  whom 
he  loved  with  that  '  other  kind  of  love  '  which  is 
stronger  than  the  love  brothers  bear  for  their  sisters. 
'  You  know,  but  you  will  not  betray  me,  dear  madam. 
'Tis  unalterable  and  undying,  but  must  never  be 
spoken  of.  What  right  have  I  to  speak  of  it  ?  I, 
cast  off  by  the  author  of  my  being  ere  I  saw  the 
light ;  I  who  have  won  no  name  or  fame  for  myself, 
a  prentice  not  yet  master  of  my  calling.  No,  it 
must  be  buried,  locked  away  in  my  breast  always  for 
these  reasons  alone,  even  if  she  who  was  wont  to  be 
so  kind  a  comrade  had  not  come  near  to  hating  me 
since  conscience  and  duty  prompted  me  to  draw 
swords  in  the  cause  of  faith  and  freedom.' 

He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  a  great  wave  of 
bitterness  seemed  to  sweep  over  his  young  soul. 

I  was  much  moved  by  this  outpouring  from  one 
who  had  conversed  with  me  hitherto  scarce  in 
anything  more  than  monosyllables.  I  laid  my  hand 
soothingly  on  his  close-clipped  curls. 

'  Dear    Hugh,  take   this   comfort   to   yourself,'   I 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  187 

said.  '  Laurel's  sisterly  affection  for  you  has  but 
passed  behind  a  cloud.  Be  sure  that  when  the 
clouds  roll  away  it  will  shine  forth  again.  Dost 
think  Laurel  ever  forgets  that  your  brave  deed  saved 
her  sister's  life — the  sister  she  so  dotes  upon  ?' 

'  Never  was  such  unselfish  sister's  love  as  hers,' 
said  he,  looking  up.  '  Ay,  madam,  there  is  no  need 
to  tell  me  that  she  is  noble-hearted  and  generous ; 
well  do  I  know  it.' 

'  See,'  I  said,  looking  out  from  the  oriel ;  '  they 
are  down  there  on  the  grass  plot  at  play  with  little 
Olave.' 

He  came  and  stood  beside  me,  and  we  watched 
together  the  gambols  going  on  below.  The  ground 
was  thick  with  feathery  snow,  which,  as  on  the  day 
of  Hugh's  and  my  stepchildren's  arrival  from  Blois, 
outlined  the  gargoyles  of  the  old  gray-stone  wall  and 
lay  on  the  sundial,  hiding  its  motto,  '  I  mark  only  ye 
Golden  Hours.'  My  rosy  little  Viking,  wrapped  to 
the  ears  in  fur,  was  snowballing  his  half-sister  and 
being  snowballed  by  aged  Marie,  whose  tall  starched 
white  cap  looked  less  white  in  contrast  with  the 
snow,  and  her  face  above  its  blue  cotton  kerchief  as 
yellow  as  a  marigold. 

4  The  garden  seems  a-bloom  with  roses,'  said 
Hugh  ;  '  and  methinks  roses  that  bloom  in  the  snow 
are  fairer  than  any.' 


i83  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Even  Silence's  pale  cheeks  in  the  cold  air  wore  a 
soft  pink,  and  Laurel's  glowed  scarlet  as  the  plume 
aflame  in  her  velvet  cap,  or  the  berries  on  the  holly- 
bush,  which  she  ducked  behind  in  feigned  terror  of 
Olave's  assault.  Her  laughing  face  came  forth  from 
its  prickly  shield,  however,  just  in  time  to  meet  the 
half-melted  snowball  that  burst  down  her  neck,  and 
made  her,  with  a  little  scream,  take  up  the  skirt  of 
her  brown-furred  gown  and  race,  for  fear  of  being  hit 
again,  to  another  shelter. 

Silence  was  the  first  to  discover  who  was  a 
spectator  of  their  games.  With  her  eyes  she  had 
searched  the  downstair  casements  many  times, 
wondering  probably  where  Hugh  was,  and  why  he 
had  not  followed  them  into  the  garden.  When  she 
saw  him  standing  in  the  oriel,  the  pink  colour  that 
became  her  so  well  deepened  in  her  face,  which  lit 
up  with  one  of  those  rare  smiles  she  keeps  for  the 
most  part  for  Hugh.  Seeing  it,  Laurel  looked  up, 
too,  and  the  sight  that  had  brought  a  smile  to 
Silence's  grave  lips  worked  an  opposite  effect  on 
hers,  for  the  even  white  teeth  that  had  been  flashing 
'twixt  them  in  merry  laughter  disappeared  behind 
the  curves  of  an  almost  sternly  closed  mouth.  Olave, 
methought,  was  mindful  of  the  change  in  his  tall 
playmate's  aspect,  for  suddenly  his  dimpled  hand 
dropped  the  new  snowball  he  had  with  much  labour 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  189 

clutched  together,  and  he  paused  in  his  joyous 
halloos. 

'  She  is  beckoning  to  you,'  said  I.  '  She  would 
fain  have  you  join  in  their  frolics.' 

'  She  ?'  Hugh  repeated ;  then  added  quickly : 
'  Pardon,  you  mean  it  is  Silence  who  beckons.' 

And  after  that  what  further  doubt  could  there  be, 
even  if  the  conversation  'twixt  Hugh  and  me  which 
I  have  related  had  not  taken  place  ?  What  doubt 
now  who  for  Hugh  was  the  one  unexpressive  she, 
as  Master  Shakespeare  has  it  ? 

Our  Lady  Day,  1645. 

This  is  dear  Anne  Fanshawe's  birthday,  a  festival 
which  of  old  was  wont  to  be  observed  with  all  sorts 
of  gaieties  in  Hart  Street,  but  to-day,  methinks,  she 
will  keep  it  with  tears  at  Oxford.  Poor  Anne,  we 
have  lately  heard  from  Sir  John  Harrison,  has  had 
the  sorrow  of  losing  her  firstborn,  a  weakling  from 
the  hour  of  its  birth.  And  she  herself  is  so  little 
recovered  from  her  illness  that  her  husband  was 
forced  to  leave  her  behind  him  on  going  last  month 
to  Bristol  with  His  Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales  in 
his  office  of  Secretary  to  the  Council  of  War.  They 
were  both  very  cast  down  at  this  their  first  separa- 
tion, as  I  can  well  believe. 

Sir  John,  knowing  of  Laurel's  admiring  worship 


igo  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

of  Anne,  proposed  when  he  writ  to  Gabriel  that  she 
shall  come  to  be  of  his  daughter's  household  for  a 
time,  and  attend  her  to  Bristol  when  Anne  receives 
her  summons  from  Mr.  Fanshawe  to  travel  thither. 

Laurel,  though  she  would  dearly  love  to  go,  and 
has  our  consent,  cannot  yet  make  up  her  mind  to 
quit  Silence  for  so  long.  Silence,  on  her  side,  has 
heard  of  the  proposal  with  equanimity,  and  hath 
even  begged  Laurel  to  do  as  she  pleases. 

The  presence  in  the  house  of  the  small  being,  who 
is  more  helpless  by  reason  of  his  babyhood  than 
she  is  from  affliction,  has  indeed  made  Silence  less 
exigent ;  yet  now  that  Olave  can  use  his  tongue 
and  doth  chatter  and  sing  unceasingly,  he  is  not 
quite  the  delightsome  object  he  was  to  Silence, 
methinks,  when  he  lay  inarticulate  in  his  deep 
rockered  cradle  wrapped  in  the  mysteries  of  his  own 
dumb  world. 

March  27. 

This  morning  came  a  letter  for  me  from  my  brother 
Roger  out  of  Oxford.  'Twas  brought,  I  was  told, 
by  the  hand  of  a  person  of  somewhat  shabby,  though 
gentlemanly,  appearance.  I  commanded  the  servant 
to  set  cheer  before  him  in  the  ante-chamber  'twixt 
the  hall  and  the  withdrawing-room  whilst  I  perused 
the  letter.  I  brought  it  here  to  my  closet,  and  it 
took  me  some  time  to  read,  being  a  long  and 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  igi 

rambling  epistle,  for  my  brother  Roger  is  as  fluent 
with  his  pen  as  his  tongue,  especially  when  he  would 
petition  me  to  ask  favours  for  him  from  Gabriel. 

'  GOOD  SISTER  (Roger  ever  begins  "  Good  Sister," 
even  when  'tis  his  intention  before  he  ends  to  re- 
proach me  with  being  a  bad  one), — I  write  this  from 
the  cockloft  over  Merton  Gate,  and  trust  that  it 
will  find  you,  as  usual,  flourishing  like  a  green  bay- 
tree.  Please  take  not  offence  at  the  comparison 
drawn  from  the  psalmist,  for  none  is  meant.  My 
own  condition  is  very  far  from  flourishing,  I  do 
assure  you.  I  can  hear  you  say  that  I  have  only 
myself  to  thank  for't.  Well,  let  me  confess  that  'tis 
so  and  throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  I  have  fallen 
into  the  error  of  dicing  with  my  fellows-in-arms,  and 
have  staked  higher  than  I  should  have  done  belike. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  Fortune  hath  chosen  to  frown 
on  me  and  I  have  lost  heavily,  and  I  am  in  sore 
straits  for  such  bare  necessaries  as  a  new  doublet, 
shirts,  and  handkerchiefs,  not  to  speak  of  accoutre- 
ments for  the  spring  campaigning.  Tis  no  use  to 
apply  at  home  for  help  in  these  matters,  as  I  hear  to 
what  sad  poverty  they  are  reduced  there  by  the 
Puritan  marauders,  so  that  my  father  is  thinking  of 
a  post  in  Oxon,  if  such  is  to  be  obtained,  which  I 
doubt,  as  crowds  of  well  -  known  organists  and 


i92  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

teachers  of  music  are  flocking  hither,  though  there 
is  perchance  more  likelihood  of  a  musician  getting  a 
living  here  than  in  your  nowsongless,  Puritan  London. 
Tis  a  thousand  pities  he  did  not  take  my  godmother 
the  widow  when  she  was  to  be  had  for  the  asking, 
and  I  warrant  that  those  who  put  spokes  in  that 
wheel  are  mightily  repentant  at  present.  But  what 
avails  it  to  bemoan  lost  opportunities  ?  I  pray  you, 
Lovejoy,  to  take  some  pity  on  the  unfortunate 
brother  who  addresses  these  lines  to  you,  and 
believe  that  he  would  fain  not  trouble  you  if  he 
weren't  driven  thereto  by  his  distressful  circum- 
stances. I  swear  never  to  play  for  a  piece  again  or 
so  much  as  to  look  at  a  card  or  a  dice-box  if  you  will 
move  your  excellent  husband  to  compassionate  me 
and  to  send  me  the  pittance  that  he  will  not  miss 
from  his  abundance,  but  which  is  all  I  need  to  put 
me  on  my  legs  again  and  to  enable  me  to  walk 
straight  for  the  future. 

'  Should  you  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  me  in  my  extremity 
and  harden  your  own  and  your  husband's  heart 
against  me,  then  all  I  can  say  is  that  you  are  not 
the  sister  I  held  you  for. 

'  He  who  carries  this  letter  for  me  is  one  Mr.  Taller, 
whom  I  would  fain  commend  to  the  notice  of  your 
worthy  husband,  for  the  sake  of  his  taste  in  antiqui- 
ties, and  because  he  hath  for  sale  certain  manuscripts 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  193 

of  great  rarity  and  value.  Think  not  that  it  advan- 
tages me  an  iota  whether  he  finds  a  patron  in  Mr. 
Young.  He  is  but  a  chance  acquaintance  who  would 
seem  to  be  in  the  same  plight  with  regard  to  moneys 
as  myself,  and  for  whom  in  consequence  I  have 
something  of  a  fellow-feeling. 

'  'Twill  pleasure  you  to  hear  that  Will  holds  to  his 
books,  despite  all  the  distractions  of  drilling  and 
marshalling  of  troops  in  the  quadrangles,  and  the 
talk  again  of  Oxford  being  invested.  The  sooner 
we  meet  this  new  army  of  the  enemy  gotten  together 
after  Noll  Cromwell's  pattern,  the  better,  say  I. 
They  are  armed  with  Bibles  as  well  as  swords,  'tis 
said,  and  each  man  is  a  prophet  David  in  his  own 
eyes.  His  Majesty  did  well  to  reject  the  terms  of 
peace  at  Uxbridge,  which  would  have  made  him  but 
a  "  King  of  Straw,"  as  the  Marquis  of  Montrose  has 
put  it.  The  Marquis  vows  to  come  from  Scotland  to 
the  King's  aid  at  the  head  of  a  gallant  army  ere  the 
summer  is  out,  so  what  with  them  and  the  Irish,  the 
King  is  in  good  hopes.  My  dutiful  respects  to  my 
worthy  brother-in-law  and  my  most  fair  stepnieces. 
When  is  Mistress  Laurel  going  to  make  some  man 
the  most  fortunate  in  the  world  ?  Methinks  if  she 
dallies  much  longer  I  may  venture  a  hazard  in  that 
quarter  myself,  though  of  course  not  without  your 
good  leave,  which  I  am  sensible  you  will  never  give 

13 


I94  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

to  one  you  hold  in  so  low  esteem,  who  nevertheless  is 
humbly  and  contritely, 

'  Your  brother, 

'  ROGER  HOWARD.' 

I  wonder  why  I  have  copied  this  letter  here,  unless 
'tis  because  as  a  memorial  of  sheer  effrontery  it 
deserves  not  to  perish.  I  felt  something  like  shame 
when  I  took  it  to  Gabriel  to  read,  for  without  mur- 
muring he  has  most  generously  helped  Roger  out  of 
scrapes  before  this  one,  and  never  reproached  him 
for  not  keeping  to  his  promises  of  amendments. 
And  even  now  he  has  not  lost  patience,  though  the 
impudent  reference  to  Laurel  at  the  end  of  this  letter 
might  well  justify  him  in  declining  to  give  Roger 
any  further  help. 

Gabriel  told  me  to  see  about  the  shirts  and 
doublets,  and  has,  I  know,  already  sent  the  moneys  to 
Oxford.  Unspeakable  indeed  is  his  goodness  to  me 
and  mine. 

April. 

Mr.  Taller,  the  bearer  of  Roger's  letter,  has  waited 
on  Gabriel  again,  bringing  from  his  lodgings  over 
against  St.  Dunstan's  in  Fleet  Street  a  manuscript 
copy  of  the  history  of  Josephus,  together  with  some 
rare  Aldines,  which  he  says  that  he  picked  up  at 
Venice  and  Antwerp  when  he  was  secretary  to  some 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  195 

nobleman.  I  think  it  was  Lord  Arundell.  He  has 
travelled  far  and  wide,  and  has  been  in  most  of  the 
foreign  towns  that  my  husband  knows  so  well.  He 
converses  easily  on  divers  topics,  though  in  a  quiet, 
modest  manner,  and  Sir  Oracle  thinks  so  well  of  him 
that  he  talks  of  giving  him  employment  in  his 
library.  I,  for  my  part,  mislike  a  habit  he  has  of 
always  keeping  his  eyes  downcast,  and  once  I  have 
caught  myself  wondering  why  his  hair  was  not  red 
instead  of  black  peppered  with  gray. 

On  St.  George's  Day  Hugh  came  fora  few  minutes 
to  take  his  farewells  of  us,  the  war  having  been 
renewed  with  great  heat  and  courage,  and  the  Yellow 
Regiment  which  he  is  in  being  ordered  by  General 
Fairfax  to  march  immediately  with  others  to  the  relief 
of  Taunton,  in  the  west.  At  the  time  Mr.  Taller  was 
in  the  library  bending  over  a  catalogue,  in  which  he 
had  discovered  inaccuracies  and  advised  alterations. 
He  was  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  apparently  en- 
grossed in  the  catalogue  on  his  knee,  and  his  presence 
seemed  scarcely  noticed  by  my  stepdaughters  and  their 
foster-brother.  At  any  rate,  it  did  not  hinder  Silence 
from  throwing  her  arms  round  Hugh  and  holding 
him  in  one  of  those  detaining  passionate  embraces 
which  methinks  of  late  somewhat  embarrass  him. 
Laurel  had  only  given  him  her  hand,  which  he  had 
let  go  reluctantly,  waiting  in  vain  for  the  sisterly 

13—2 


196  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

kiss  which  she  had  been  wont  to  bestow  on  him  at 
former  partings.  The  parrot  was  on  her  shoulder, 
rubbing  its  beak  against  her  cheek,  and  its  oft- 
repeated  '  Good-byes '  near  drowned  ours. 

Hugh  had  turned  to  go,  and  his  hand  was  on  the 
latch  of  the  door,  when  the  figure  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room  came  hastily  forward,  as  if  moved  by 
an  uncontrollable  impulse. 

'  There  is  no  need  to  offer  you  advice,  or  to  warn 
you  before  temptations,  young  man,'  said  Mr.  Taller 
in  a  mocking  voice,  that  differed  oddly  from  his 
customary  subdued,  almost  timid  way  of  speaking. 
'  You  are  going  to  a  camp  of  psalm-singing  saints, 
where  innocent  amusements,  as  well  as  swearing, 
drunkenness,  chambering,  and  wantoning,  are  strictly 
forbid,  and  men  read  their  Bibles  instead  of  playing 
at  cards  and  dice.' 

Hugh  looked  surprised  at  a  stranger  addressing 
him  thus. 

'  You  speak  truly,'  he  replied ;  '  such  occupations 
as  you  name  are  confined  chiefly  to  those  whose 
powder  and  steel  I  go  forth  to  meet.' 

'  Snares  and  pitfalls,  I  presume,  are  not  set  for  the 
godly.'  Then,  recollecting  himself  suddenly,  Mr. 
Taller  seemed  anxious  to  withdraw  his  sneers. 
'  Excuse  me,'  said  he,  in  his  old  softer  and  more 
pleasant  voice,  '  I  would  but  wish  you  god-speed  on 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  197 

your  errand  of  danger  in  a  mistaken  cause,  for  you 
remind  me  of  one  for  whom  I  once  had  a  fond- 
ness.' 

'  I  thank  you,  sir,'  Hugh  said,  his  steadfast  eyes 
still  fixed  on  the  gentleman's  countenance  in  cold 
astonishment.  He  did  not  take  the  hand  offered 
him,  and  without  another  farewell  glance  at  Laurel, 
who  had  sent  the  parrot  away  and  was  comforting 
Silence  in  her  grief  at  his  departure,  Hugh  went  from 
the  room. 

Methought  Mr.  Taller  took  his  leave  the  instant 
after  with  an  idea  of  overtaking  Hugh  at  the  gate, 
but  if  this  were  his  intention,  he  was  disappointed. 
Hugh  never  leaves  the  Gray  House  without  saying 
good-bye  to  his  old  Blois  friends,  Alphonse  and 
Marie,  and  Mr.  Taller  must  have  been  half-way  down 
Chancery  Lane  ere  Hugh  entered  it. 

It  was  a  real  April  day  of  sunshine  and  cloud,  with 
a  silver  shower  falling  now  and  again.  Of  her  own 
accord  Silence  roused  herself  from  her  despon- 
dency, and  instead  of  fretting  for  Hugh,  went  with 
Miriam  Fisher,  little  Olave,  and  me  into  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields  to  make  a  long-promised  daisy-chain. 
My  tiny  boy  begins  to  understand  his  favourite  silent 
playmate,  and  verily,  I  believe,  puts  a  check  on  his 
prattling  baby  tongue  to  please  her.  A  sweet  picture 
they  were  together.  Silence  sitting  on  a  stile,  the 


IQ8  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

fitful  sunshine  coming  and  going  on  her  halo  of  hair, 
above  her  the  April  sky,  with  its  tumbled  masses  of 
purple-tinged  clouds,  and  all  round  at  her  feet  a 
silver  and  gold  carpet  of  daisies  and  buttercups. 
She  held  out  her  green  taffetas  apron  for  the  daisies, 
which  Olave  plucked  with  his  chubby  hands  and 
brought  to  her  gravely,  looking  up  into  her  face  each 
time  as  if  their  business  was  of  great  importance. 
Before  the  daisy-chain  was  well  begun  I  left  them 
with  Miriam,  having  promised  to  meet  my  sister  Peg 
at  the  Exchange,  as  she  is  to  be  wed  in  May,  and 
would  fain  purchase  a  stock  of  bravery  at  the  mercers 
and  furriers,  who  display  their  silks  and  brocaded 
stuffs  in  the  little  shops  they  have  beneath  the 
Exchange. 

The  Puritan  opinions  of  its  citizens  have  wrought 
a  marked  change  in  the  outward  aspect  of  London. 
'Tis  not  only  that  grass  has  grown  up  'twixt  the 
stones  of  Whitehall,  and  the  King's  pictures  and 
curiosities  there  are  inches  thick  with  cobwebs  and 
dust;  the  noblemen's  fine  houses  on  the  Thames 
bank  for  the  most  part  empty,  and  their  pleasure- 
barges  moored  at  anchor  from  month's  end  to  month's 
end;  but  you  may  go  on  foot  from  Holborn  to 
Lombard  Street  and  scarce  meet  one  person  that  is 
not  plainly  clad  and  of  a  serious  countenance.  A 
cavalier  in  all  the  graceful  glories  of  sweeping  plumes, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  199 

lovelocks,  riband  knots,  fine  lace,  and  sparkling  gems 
is  so  rare  a  sight  now  abroad  in  the  heart  of  the  city, 
that  he  is  like  as  not  to  be  hooted  and  rabbled. 
The  conjurers  and  mountebanks,  and  owners  of 
puppet-shows  and  dancing  bears  are  little  seen  in 
the  London  streets,  and  methinks  these  times  have 
ruined  them  as  they  have  the  church  organists  and 
organ-builders. 

My  father  cannot  yet  bring  himself  to  the  uproot- 
ing which  going  to  seek  a  post  at  Oxford  would 
entail,  and  clings  on  to  the  old  home  in  Hart  Street. 
He  has  sold  a  precious  inlaid  ivory  lute  and  an 
Italian  viol,  which  he  greatly  valued  because  it 
belonged  once  to  the  late  Mr.  Orlando  Gibbons,  and 
I  nearly  always  find  him,  when  I  come  to  Hart 
Street  now,  sorting  his  vast  accumulation  of  music, 
either  in  manuscript  or  bound  in  volumes,  in  search 
of  something  saleable.  But,  as  he  says,  those  who 
would  buy  such  things  cannot,  being  too  low  in 
their  fortunes  to  do  so,  and  those  who  could  will 
not,  having  discovered  music  to  be  sinful. 

Poor  Peg  would  be  as  badly  off  for  linen  and 
clothes  to  start  her  married  life  as  she  is  for  dower, 
if  I  were  not  able  to  help  her.  'Twas  my  delight  to 
come  to  the  rescue,  so  I  must  confess  to  feeling  a 
little  vexed  at  Peg  pouting  and  taking  my  advice  so 
ill  when  I  said  in  the  position  she  was  going  to  fill 


200  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

such  a  number  of  brocaded  kirtles,  rich  taffetas 
cloaks,  and  gowns,  and  gewgaws  as  she  hankered 
after  would  scarce  be  necessary. 

'  You  wish  to  be  the  only  fine  lady  of  the  family,  I 
see,'  said  she.  '  My  husband  will  not  be  a  beggar, 
although  not  so  rich  as  yours.' 

'  You  are  fond  of  harping  on  my  husband's  riches,' 
I  retorted,  '  but  I  never  hear  you  mention  the 
generous  uses  to  which  he  puts  them.' 

'  And  I  have  profited,  you  would  fain  say,  by  his 
generosity,  and  so  I  am  ungrateful.' 

'  Nay,  I  had  no  desire  to  say  more  on  the  subject, 
but,  if  the  cap  fits,  pray  wear  it.' 

These  heated  words  were  passing  'twixt  Peg  and 
me  when  Tim  dashed  out  on  us  from  the  shop  of  his 
Turkey  merchant  in  much  excitement,  to  say  his 
master's  madam  and  her  daughters  had  seen  us  from 
the  bay  upstairs,  and  would  be  pleased  if  we  came  in 
and  did  them  the  honour  of  partaking  of  their 
cowslip  wine  and  hardbake. 

'  You  should  come,'  said  Tim,  '  if  only  to  see  what 
silk,  and  satins,  and  gold  chains  they  wear,  and  they 
have  so  many  rings  there  isn't  room  for  all  on  their 
fingers,  so  they  stick  them  on  their  thumbs  as  well. 
Why,  even  you,  Lovejoy,  aren't  half  so  fine  as  the)*, 
and,  as  for  Peg,  she's  shabby  compared  with  'em.' 

Peg's  cup  of  mortification  was  now  full. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  201 

'  I  don't  want  their  cowslip  wine,  or  to  gape  on 
their  chains  and  rings,'  said  she.  '  You  may  tell 
them,  with  my  respects,  if  you  like,  that  gentle  birth 
is  better  than  gaudy  clothes,  as  money  cannot 
buy  it.' 

'  And  they  might  well  doubt  the  possession  of 
gentle  birth  by  the  sender  of  so  ungentle  a  message,' 
said  Tim. 

'  Dear  Tim,  Peg  is  weary  from  her  shopping. 
Give  your  master's  wife  our  most  polite  thanks, 
and  express  to  her  our  regret  that  we  cannot  tarry 
to-day.' 

On  the  way  home,  when  I  saw  Peg  biting  her  lip 
to  keep  back  her  tears,  I  repented  of  my  sharpness, 
and  said  : 

'  You  shall  have  that  second  suit  of  flowered 
paduasoy  you  have  set  your  heart  on,  Peg.  I  did 
not  begrudge  it  you.  'Twas  only  that  I  thought 
there  were  other  useful  things  you  yet  lacked  that 
should  be  considered  first ;  but  belike  I  was  wrong.' 

At  this,  as  we  were  on  the  doorstep,  Peg's  pride 
broke  down,  and,  no  longer  restraining  her  tears,  she 
fell  a-weeping  on  my  breast,  vowed  she  had  been  a 
'  hateful  wench,'  and  begged  me  to  forgive  her  rude 
speeches. 

In  the  narrow  parlour,  Prue  and  Jane  would  fain 
know  why  Peg,  of  them  all,  should  be  crying — Peg, 


202  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

who  in  less  than  a  month  would  be  installed  in  the 
little  home  in  Aldersgate,  with  everything  fresh,  and 
new,  and  pretty,  and  a  serving-woman  of  her  own  to 
dress  her  hair,  instead  of  sharing  with  them  the 
offices  of  old  Penelope,  who  had  so  many  other 
things  to  do,  and  whose  strong  point  is  not  hair- 
dressing. 

'And,  above  all,  you  will  escape  the  inevitable,' 
said  Prue,  '  for  I  begin  to  see  'tis  inevitable.' 

'What?'  I  asked. 

'  The  widow,'  answered  Prue. 

And  methought  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
accept  the  inevitable  with  a  philosophic  complacence 
very  different  from  her  old  antagonism. 

But  not  so  Jane. 

'  I  would  liefer  go  to  a  boarding-school  than  live 
with  such  a  pestilential  stepmother,'  she  declared 
vehemently.  '  Will  not  you  and  Gabriel  send  me  to 
that  famous  place  for  young  gentlewomen  across  the 
Thames  where  they  are  taught  all  the  arts  ?' 

'  A  school  might  certainly  teach  you  to  use 
prettier  language,'  said  I,  '  but  you  could  not  abide 
there  always.' 

'  No,  but  afterwards  I  would  go  as  waiting- maid 
to  some  sweet,  fair  lady  of  quality — Mrs.  Anne 
Fanshawe,  belike.  If  you  were  to  ask  her,  Lovejoy, 
she  would  take  me.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  203 

I  could  only  smile  at  Jane,  who  was  yet  in 
pinafores,  and  wore  her  golden  locks  unbound,  thus 
gravely  planning  her  future,  though,  true  enough, 
there  are  maids  of  as  tender  years  as  she  who  have 
plighted  their  troth,  and  even  been  wed.  The  little 
Princess  of  Orange,  the  King's  eldest  daughter,  for 
instance,  has  been  married  these  five  years,  longer 
than  I  have,  and  is  still  but  a  child. 

'Twas  on  coming  back  to  the  Gray  House  that 
Laurel  met  me,  and  told  me  that,  if  I  would  spare 
her,  she  would  go  to  Oxford,  for  the  pleasure  of 
being  with  Anne  Fanshawe  was  one  she  knew  not 
longer  how  to  deny  herself. 

'  You  cannot  resist  another  Maytime  in  Oxford  ?' 
said  I. 

'  But  it  will  not  be  like  the  last,'  she  answered, 
and  I  saw  a  look  of  wistfulness  in  Laurel's  eyes. 


IX 

LAUREL'S  LETTERS* 

ST.  JOHN'S  COLLEGE,  OXON, 
May,  1645. 

SWEET  MOTHER, 

I  would  have  writ  from  Kingston,  but  we 
lay  at  the  Grange  but  one  night,  and  my  father 
will  have  returned  to  you  by  now,  and  will  tell  you 
how  it  fared  with  me  that  far. 

The  next  morning  was  fair  and  bright,  and  I  was 
up  betimes  and  on  the  road  with  my  companions. 
'Twas  the  same  we  took  last  spring  when  we  came 
with  Will.  This  time  we  fell  in  with  no  beauteous 
runaway  Mrs.  Milton  outside  Windsor,  and  I  would 
there  had  been  anything  half  so  pretty  to  look  upon 
in  the  inn  parlour  where  we  rested.  'Twas  full  of  a 
parcel  of  Puritan  folk,  as  grim  and  forbidding  of  men 
as  any  to  be  seen  in  London.  We  met  with  divers 

*  The  letters  inserted  here  in  the  journal  of  Mistress  Love- 
joy  Young  were  written  to  her  from  Oxford  and  Bristol  by  her 
stepdaughter,  who  at  this  time  was  staying  with  her  kins- 
woman, Mrs.  Fanshawe  — EDITOR. 

[  204  ] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  205 

parties  of  troopers  by  the  way,  and  in  one  of  the 
villages  we  passed  through  we  heard  shots  fired  ;  for 
there  had  been  an  affray  'twixt  some  of  the  Parlia- 
ment's garrison  at  Aylesbury,  who  were  roving  the 
country,  and  some  of  the  King's  from  Wallingford ; 
and  I  believe  'twas  that  gallant  acquaintance  of  Mrs. 
Milton's,  young  Captain  Gardiner,  brother  of  Sir 
Thomas  Gardiner,  who  was  giving  the  rebels  chase. 
We  were  just  in  time  to  see  them  flying  over  a  turnip- 
field.  But  we  came  on  a  finer  martial  spectacle  than 
this  ere  we  rid  into  Oxford.  Whilst  the  sentinel 
examined  our  pass  we  were  obliged  to  back  our  horses 
to  let  the  King's  foot-guards  in  blue,  under  command 
of  Lord  Bernard  Stuart,  and  a  troop  of  his  cavalry, 
go  by,  setting  forth,  with  drums  and  music,  for  the 
march  to  Chester,  in  which  direction  His  Majesty 
was  to  follow  them  on  the  morrow,  to  meet  Prince 
Rupert.  The  King  was  at  service  in  Trinity  College 
Chapel  in  the  morning,  ere  he  started  out,  and  I,  to 
my  infinite  contentment,  being  there  with  Margaret 
Harrison,  looked  on  his  kingly  face  again.  It  wore 
a  cheerfuller  expression,  and  was  not  so  pale,  me- 
thought,  as  when  I  beheld  it  in  the  moonlight  on 
Christ  Church  quad  a  year  agone.  The  King  joined 
in  the  chanting  of  the  psalms,  and  a  diamond  on  one 
of  his  fingers  flashed  in  the  sunlight  as  he  moved  his 
hand  in  time  to  the  anthem. 


206  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Pray  God  that  what  His  Majesty  goes  forth  to 
adventure  this  time  may  succeed  ! 

There  is  as  fine  singing  in  the  chapels  here  as  ever, 
and  'tis  good  to  hear  it  and  church  bells  once  more. 
The  sound  of  the  organ,  when  first  I  heard  it  again, 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes  for  thinking  of  poor  Master 
Howard,  who  has  been  so  cruelly  robbed  of  his. 

Your  brother  Roger's  troop  is  now  gone  out  of 
garrison  with  the  King,  but  I  saw  him  at  the  Fleur 
de  Luce  when  I  alighted  there  at  the  end  of  my 
journey.  He  did  inquire  rather  anxiously  how  we 
liked  his  Mr.  Taller,  at  which  I  laughed,  and  answered 
that  I  believed  my  father  approved  his  learning,  but, 
so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  he  had  made  scarce  any 
impression  on  me,  appearing  so  colourless  a  person ; 
but  I  must  admit  I  forgot  when  I  said  it  how  he  had 
spoken  to  Hugh,  and  for  a  moment  shown  himself 
in  another  character. 

I  know  not  how  I  come  to  have  writ  all  this  with- 
out telling  you  that  which  you  must  thirst  to  know 
— news  of  dear  Mistress  Anne  Fanshawe.  She 
received  me  with  all  her  usual  warmth  and  kindness, 
as  did  her  father.  Her  illness  hath  wrought  such  a 
change  in  her  looks  that  at  first  I  vow  I  should  scarce 
have  known  her  to  be  the  same  creature  as  we  saw 
wed  last  May.  But  something  has  happened  since 
I  came  that  has  brought  back  the  old  colour  to  her 


LADY  FANSHAUK. 

From  e.'tf  Engraving  bv  Htsnt-er. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  207 

cheeks  and  lips,  and  I  verily  believe  she  will  soon  be 
herself  again  if  she  continues  to  mend  at  the  pace  she 
hath  done  these  two  days.  'Twas  on  Sunday,  the 
first  day  Mistress  Anne  Fanshawe  came  out  of  her 
chamber  to  go  to  church,  and  after  service  she  was 
holding  my  arm  on  one  side  and  her  sister  Margaret's 
on  the  other,  being  yet  too  weak  to  go  alone,  when  a 
gentleman  came  forward  to  meet  us  with  a  packet  in 
his  hand,  which  he  gave  to  Mistress  Fanshawe,  saying 
it  contained  fifty  pieces  of  gold  and  a  letter  from  her 
husband.  Her  joy  may  be  conceived,  and  she  was 
nearly  overcome  as  she,  that  instant,  read  the  letter, 
telling  her  to  come  to  Bristol  on  Thursday  in  next 
week,  when  men  and  horses  and  all  accommodation 
for  the  journey  would  be  sent  her. 

'  Come,  let  us  go  and  sit  in  the  air,  on  the  mount 
in  St.  John's  College  Garden,'  said  she,  'for  I  am 
now  too  happy  to  go  within  doors,  and  will  fain  drink 
in  strength  as  fast  as  I  can  for  Thursday.' 

So  we  took  her  to  a  seat  beneath  a  spreading  ash, 
and  here  her  father  and  all  of  her  household  came  to 
her,  and  she  imparted  her  glad  tidings  to  them, 
laughing  and  weeping  together,  and  everyone  rejoiced 
with  her.  She  has  since  bid  me  tune  my  lute  and 
sing  the  merriest  songs  I  know.  She  likes  to  have 
me  with  her,  and  is  so  good  as  to  take  delight  withal 
in  my  singing ;  but  yesterday  she  drove  me  and 


208  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Margaret  from  her  side  to  go  a-pleasurmg  without 
her,  with  Will  and  some  others,  in  rowing-boats  on 
the  river.  The  water  sparkled  like  silver  and  the 
sky  was  cloudless  blue,  and  from  end  to  end  the 
meadows  were  enamelled  with  flowers.  The  boats 
were  moored,  and  we  plucked  the  fritillaries  that  start 
up  like  lilac  spear-heads  among  the  sedges  and  bull- 
rushes  by  the  waterside.  'Tis  a  fair  Maytime,  and 
Oxford  is  a  fair  city,  but  methinks  Bristol  will  seem 
fairer  to  Mistress  Fanshawe's  eyes.  When  next  I 
write  'twill  be  from  there  if  all  go  well.  .  .  . 

I  am,  with  a  thousand  messages  of  love  to  my 
sister  and  my  dear  respects  to  you  and  my  father, 
your  daughter 

LAUREL. 

For  MISTRESS  YOUNG, 
at  the  Gray  House  in  London, 

by  the  Gateway  of  Lincoln's  Inn, 
Chancery  Lane. 

MR.  FANSHAWE'S  LODGINGS, 

NEAR  THE  CASTLE,  BRISTOL, 
May  25,  1648. 

SWEET  MOTHER  AND  HONOURED  FATHER, 

As  I  foretold  in  my  last,  my  second  letter 
is  writ  from  this  hilly,  gray  old  town,  that  stands  on 
a  brown  river,  the  like  of  which  I  never  saw  for 
muddiness. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  209 

I  must  tell  you  that  we  arrived  here  without  mis- 
adventure. We  set  out  from  Oxford  at  nightfall,  it 
being  deemed  safer  to  travel  by  night,  as  the  enemy 
were  quartered  by  the  way.  We  were  a  merry  party, 
taking  our  tune  from  Mistress  Fanshawe,  who  was 
in  the  gayest  of  spirits.  'Twas  enchanting  to  ride 
mile  on  mile  under  the  May  moon,  and  then  to  see  it 
fade  out  of  the  sky  and  the  stars  die  one  by  one, 
leaving  the  floor  of  heaven  ready  for  the  rosy  pageant 
of  the  dawn.  For  twelve  miles  of  the  way  a  troop  of 
horse  rid  with  us,  sent  courteously  from  the  garrison 
by  Sir  Marmaduke  Rawdon  to  accompany  Mistress 
Fanshawe  till  dangers  of  being  surprised  by  the 
enemy  were  past. 

This  is  a  fair  lodging,  in  a  steep  street,  whence  the 
shipping  on  the  brown  river  is  to  be  seen,  and  some 
frowning  gray  rocks  that  overhang  it,  covered  with 
wild  gilliflowers.  You  should  have  seen  how  joyfully 
Mistress  Anne  flew  into  her  husband's  arms  when  he 
came  in  from  the  council  some  hours  after  our  arrival. 
I,  being  in  her  apartments,  did  witness  the  meeting 
betwixt  them,  and  saw  him  put  into  her  hands  a 
hundred  pieces  of  gold,  saying,  '  I  know  thou  that 
keeps  my  heart  so  well  wilt  keep  my  fortune,  which 
from  this  time  I  will  ever  put  into  thy  hands,  as  God 
shall  bless  its  increase.' 

At  night  Mistress  Fanshawe  called  me  to  soothe 

14 


• 

2io  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

her  with  a  song,  and  I  found  her  clad  in  a  white 
wrapping-robe,  and  truly  her  eyes  were  as  sparkling, 
and  her  cheeks  as  pink,  and  her  air  as  vivacious  as 
when  she  was  a  maid. 

'  I  feel  now  as  if  all  my  troubles  were  over,'  said 
she.  '  Indeed,  I  am  as  happy  as  any  queen.  And 
what  queen  could  have  a  more  glorious  crown  than  I 
have  in  my  husband  ?  You,  Laurel,  think  this 
exaggerated  talk.  Nay ;  but  wait  till  some  man  as 
wise  and  good  is  your  husband,  then  you  will  under- 
stand what  'tis  to  have  his  soul  dote  on  you.' 

I  replied  that  I  could  well  understand  her  feelings 
without  waiting  for  a  husband,  and  if  I  waited  for  a 
good  and  wise  one,  methought  I  should  wait  for  ever 
and  a  day,  as  among  those  who  come  a-wooing  to 
my  father's  house,  in  obedience  to  their  parents'  or 
guardians'  wishes  rather  than  to  the  dictates  of  their 
own  hearts,  none  seemed  to  be  distinguished  for 
wisdom  ;  and  as  for  goodness,  the  good  were  generally 
too  simple  and  clownish  to  please  me.  Dear  Mistress 
Fanshawe  looked  quite  grave  at  this — just  as  I  have 
seen  you  look,  mother,  when  I  have  said  the  like  to 
you ;  but  'tis  true,  nevertheless.  Wise  and  good 
men  do  not  grow  on  every  bush.  Mr.  Fanshawe, 
I  admit,  is  both,  and  handsome  and  charming  to 
boot. 

The  lords  of  the  Council  have  their  ladies  with 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  211 

them  here,  and  they  come  in  and  out  to  Mistress 
Fanshawe  very  frequently  and  intimately,  as  do  my 
Lady  Rivers,  my  Lady  Aubigny,  and  the  Lady 
Isabella  Thynne,  who  is  exquisitely  fair  to  look  upon. 
Knowing  Mr.  Waller's  lines  to  her  playing  on  the  lute, 
I  was  shy  last  night  to  touch  mine  before  her.  But 
her  ladyship  was  graciously  pleased  to  compliment 
my  singing.  Only  once  had  she  heard  anything  like 
it,  declared  she,  and  that  was  last  spring,  before  the 
Queen  left  Oxford,  when  some  strolling  musicians, 
one  of  whom  was  a  womam  in  a  rusty,  patched  cloak, 
came  and  performed  before  the  Court  in  Christ 
Church  quadrangle,  and  reaped  a  rich  harvest,  because 
of  the  '  rare  melting  sweetness '  of  the  woman's  voice. 
I  think  I  must  have  blushed,  for  her  ladyship  fixed 
her  beautiful  eyes  on  my  face  searchingly,  it  seemed 
to  me,  as  she  added :  '  There  were  those  in  the 
company  ready  to  take  their  oath  on't  that  the 
rusty  cloak  was  a  disguise,  and  the  woman  with  the 
pure,  true  notes  no  vagrant.  Richard  Lovelace,  the 
soldier  poet,  said  he  recognised  the  voice  as  one  that 
he  had  heard  in  very  different  surroundings,  and 
aroused  some  curiosity  by  throwing  the  songstress 
a  flower  instead  of  money.'  This  time  I  am  sure  that 
I  blushed,  and  I  made  an  excuse  to  go  from  the  room 
to  fetch  a  music-book.  When  I  came  back  'twas  a 
relief  to  find  the  Lady  Isabella's  attention  taken  up 

14 — 2 


212  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

in  showing  the  rest  of  the  company  the  steps  of  a 
dance  she  calls  the  Almain. 

For  my  Lady  Rivers  Mistress  Fanshawe  entertains 
a  great  affection  and  reverence,  for  she  is  a  brave 
woman,  who  has  suffered  many  thousand  pounds  loss 
for  the  King.  'Tis  in  her  coach  that  we  have  been 
to  take  the  air  on  a  wild  country  place  near  here 
called  the  Downs,  whence  one  looks  across  wooded 
slopes  to  the  Channel  sea  beyond. 

'Twas  driving  back  to-day  that  I  heard  my  Lady 
Rivers  banter  Mistress  Fanshawe  on  keeping  state 
secrets  so  well. 

'  What  state  secrets  ?'  asked  Mistress  Fanshawe, 
opening  her  blue  eyes  very  wide  and  innocently. 
'  Forsooth,  I  know  none.' 

'  Is  it  possible  with  a  husband  who  holds  so  im- 
portant a  political  position  ?  Why,  my  dear,  you 
disregard  rare  opportunities  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  state  affairs.  You  should  prevail  with  Mr. 
Fanshawe  to  impart  to  you  the  contents  of  the 
packets  and  missives  that  pass  constantly  through 
his  hands.  You  might  in  this  way  wield  an  influence 
equal  to  my  Lady  Aubigny  and  divers  others  I  could 
name.' 

'  But  they  have  older  and  steadier  heads  on  their 
shoulders  than  I  have,'  Cousin  Anne  made  answer. 

'  They  began  when  they  were  as  young  and  ignorant 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  213 

as  you  are  to  interest  themselves  in  politics,'  my  Lady 
Rivers  persisted. 

'  How  shall  I  make  a  beginning  ?'  Mistress  Fan- 
shawe  inquired. 

Lady  Rivers  said  it  was  very  simple.  She  knew 
for  certain  that  a  post  had  come  in  the  night  from 
the  Queen  in  Paris,  and  if  she  asked  her  husband 
privately  he  would  be  sure  to  tell  her  what  he  found 
in  the  packet,  and  then  Mistress  Fanshawe  might 
impart  the  news  to  her,  for  she  would  be  extremely 
glad  to  hear  what  were  the  Queen's  latest  commands 
to  the  King  concerning  his  affairs.  'Twas  not  my 
place  to  put  in  a  word,  was  it,  mother  ?  but  methought 
my  Lady  Rivers'  advice  was  given  more  for  her  own 
advantage  than  for  Mistress  Fanshawe's. 

When  her  husband  came  in  from  the  Council  later 
with  his  hands  full  of  papers,  I  saw  Cousin  Anne 
Fanshawe  eye  them,  and  she  followed  him  into  his 
study.  They  had  not  been  long  together  before  she 
came  forth  alone,  with  a  vexed  and  disappointed  air. 
At  supper  she  would  not  eat,  and  scarcely  spoke  at 
all,  though  Mr.  Fanshawe  sat  beside  her,  and  drank 
to  her  often — as  is  his  custom — and  made  discourse 
with  me  and  the  rest  of  the  company  at  table  in  his 
pleasant,  courteous  fashion.  The  cloud  yet  rests  on 
her,  eclipsing  her  sweet  gaiety,  and  you,  dear  mother, 
will  burn  to  know  the  cause  of  her  sadness ;  but  I 


2i4  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

must  close  this  letter  without  telling  you,  for  I  have 
not  wholly  discovered  it  myself,  though  I  have  my 

suspicions  thereof. 

Your  LAUREL. 

BRISTOL, 

June  5. 
DEAR  MOTHER, 

I  know  naught  that  I  can  write  concerning 
dear  Cousin  Anne  Fanshawe  will  weary  you,  as  you 
value  so  highly  her  loving  friendship.  Well,  then,  it 
will  pleasure  you  to  learn  that  the  cloud  has  cleared, 
and  her  happy  smiles  beam  forth  again,  like  the 
sunshine  after  a  shower.  I  feel  proud  that  I  have 
had  the  whole  story  from  her  own  lips.  She  told  me 
everything  whilst  I  was  winding  some  skeins  of  silk 
for  her  in  her  closet  yesterday. 

'  'Tis  for  me  to  sing  to-day,'  said  she,  '  out  of  sheer 
light-heartedness.  I  am  like  a  child  that  hath  been 
kissed  and  forgiven  for  its  naughtiness,  though  truly 
my  conduct  now  seems  to  me  more  vile  than  any 
naughty  child's,  and  I  blush  to  think  of  it.  After 
what  my  Lady  Rivers  said  I  was  fool  enough  to 
imagine  that  inquiring  into  public  affairs  being  a 
fashionable  thing  I  might  try  it,  and  so  become 
more  thought  of  and  beloved  by  my  husband  than  I 
was — as  if  that  were  possible.  So  I  followed  him  into 
his  study,  and  when  he  turned  in  surprise  and  asked, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  215 

"  What  wouldst  thou  have,  my  life  ?"  I  replied  that 
I  heard  the  Prince  had  received  a  packet  from  the 
Queen,  and  I  guessed  it  was  that  in  his  hands,  and  I 
desired  to  know  what  was  in  it.  He  said :  "  My  love, 
I  will  come  to  thee  as  soon  as  I  can  ;  pray  thee  go, 
for  I  am  very  busy."  Just  before  supper  I  revived 
my  suit.  He  kissed  me  and  talked  of  other  things, 
and  that  was  why  I  did  not  eat  or  speak  at  table,  as 
you  must  have  noticed.  Going  to  bed  I  asked  again, 
but  he  stopped  my  mouth  with  kisses,  and  I  went  to 
bed  to  cry,  not  to  sleep.  In  the  morning,  when  he 
was  called  to  rise  early  as  usual,  he  began  to  discourse 
with  me  first ;  but  I  made  no  reply,  so  he  rose,  drew 
the  curtains  softly,  and  went  to  Court.  On  his  coming 
home  to  dinner  I  ran  to  him  and  took  his  hand  and 
said,  "Thou  dost  not  care  to  see  me  troubled?"  to 
which  he,  taking  me  in  his  arms,  answered :  "  My 
dearest  soul,  nothing  upon  earth  can  afflict  me  like 
that,  and  when  you  asked  me  of  my  business  it  was 
wholly  out  of  my  power  to  satisfy  thee,  for  my  life 
and  fortune  shall  be  thine  and  every  thought  of  my 
heart  in  which  the  trust  I  am  in  may  not  be  revealed, 
but  my  honour  is  my  own,  which  I  cannot  preserve 
if  I  communicate  the  Prince's  affairs ;  and,  pray  thee, 
with  this  rest  satisfied."  And  after  such  forbearance 
and  reason  I  was  so  ashamed  of  my  folly  that  I  have 
resolved  never  till  the  day  of  my  death  to  pry  again 


2i6  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

into  any  of  his  business,  except  what  he  communicates 
to  me  of  his  own  freewill.  And  there,  Laurel,'  added 
she,  laughing,  '  is  a  lesson  for  you,  child,  to  profit  by 
when  you  have  gotten  your  wise  and  good  husband.' 

But  I  would  not  promise  her  to  profit  by  it,  for, 
methinks,  single  or  wed,  if  I  had  the  chance,  I  would 
not  hesitate  to  learn  state  secrets  if  by  so  doing  I 
could  be  of  any  service  to  the  King's  cause.  Not  that 
there  is  any  necessity  for  Mistress  Fanshawe  to 
interfere ;  her  husband  being  so  stout  and  faithful  a 
servant  of  His  Majesty,  she  may  safely  be  easy  in  her 
mind  and  leave  all  to  him. 

The  night  the  news  came  here  that  the  King  had 
taken  Leicester  we  sang  merry  ditties  and  danced 
galliards  far  into  the  night.  But  one  swallow  does  not 
make  a  summer,  and  'tis  said  that  the  fortune  of  the 
Royalists  in  the  West  is  ebbing  day  by  day,  through 
the  quarrels  and  jealousy  amongst  the  Generals  and 
officers  and  the  plundering  of  the  soldiers.  The 
Prince's  presence  here  has  made  matters  worse  instead 
of  better,  as  was  expected.  Sir  Edward  Hyde  and 
Lord  Colpepper  speak  with  disgust  of  the  '  knavish  ' 
Generals  Goring  and  Grenville  and  their  '  beggarly 
troops.' 

In  these  hot  days  the  air  of  Bristol  is  near  to  stifle 
one,  and  the  waters  of  the  Avon  very  foul.  In  the 
poorer  streets  the  plague  is  beginning  to  rage  apace. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  217 

'Tis  likely  that  the  Prince  and  his  retinue  will  move 
before  long  to  Barnstaple.  We  scarce  ever  catch 
sight  of  the  Prince,  except  in  church,  for  'tis  not  the 
mode  for  women  to  associate  with  a  Court  composed 
of  men,  even  when  their  husbands  are  of  it,  Mistress 
Fanshawe  says.  The  Prince  hath  so  serious  an  air 
for  fourteen — and  no  wonder.  Cousin  Anne  bids  me 
give  you  her  tenderest  remembrances.  She  questions 
me  often  about  you  and  the  bonny  Viking,  and  shows 
a  lively  interest  in  all  I  tell  her  of  Silence  and  her 
wondrous  needlework  pictures,  especially  that  of  the 
miracle  of  St.  Olave. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

LAUREL. 

AT  MR.  PALMER'S,  BARNSTAPLE, 
July  —. 

MOTHER, 

'Tis  scarce  worth  while  to  write  to  you  this 
post,  as  'tis  possible  I  may  arrive  soon  after  my  letter. 
My  Lady  Capel  hath  obtained  a  pass  from  the  Earl 
of  Essex,  and  travels  hence  to  London  in  a  few  days 
with  her  daughter,  and  I  am  resolved  to  be  of  her 
party,  as  she  is  kind  enough  to  offer  me  her  escort. 
"What  you  tell  me  in  your  last  letter  about  Silence 
keeping  her  chamber  disquiets  me  on  her  account, 
so  that  I  cannot  be  happy  in  my  mind  to  tarry 
longer  away  from  her.  'Tis  more  like  to  be 


2i8  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

that  she  is  pining  for  Hugh  1'Estrange  than  suffering 
from  a  spleen.  Methinks  she  would  have  taken  the 
herb-posset  from  my  hand  if  I  had  been  there,  and 
not  flirted  it  over  the  coverlid. 

You  say  that  naught  has  been  heard  of  Hugh  since 
Naseby,  either  by  Master  Haynes  or  my  father,  though 
his  regiment,  with  Major  Skippon,  is  returned.  Such 
uncertainty  alone  is  enough  to  make  Silence  sick. 

Perchance  Hugh  was  taken  a  prisoner  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  fight,  which  went  in  the  King's  favour,  and 
so  will  certainly  be  released  or  exchanged,  he  being  on 
the  victorious  side,  alack.  I  say  alack,  not  for  Hugh's 
chance  of  'scaping,  but  for  the  grievous  routing  and 
scattering  of  the  King's  forces  on  Naseby  Field.  The 
details  of  that  great  calamity  are  so  heart-breaking 
I  can  scarce  bear  to  hear  them  talked  of.  In  the 
discourse  at  table  last  night  'twas  said  by  Mr.  Fan- 
shawe  that  the  King's  cabinet  of  confidential  letters 
that  was  taken  to  London  with  the  rest  of  the  booty 
and  the  five  thousand  prisoners  is  to  be  opened 
publicly  in  the  Guildhall,  and  its  contents  read  aloud 
for  all  the  world  and  his  wife  to  hearken  to.  This 
seems  to  me  the  worst  misfortune  that  has  befallen 
His  Majesty  hitherto. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fanshawe  have  been  most  handsomely 
entertained  here,  and  had  every  honour  paid  them  by 
the  Governor  of  Barnstaple.  'Tis  a  fine  town,  with 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  219 

clean  streets  and  a  fresh  air  from  the  sea,  which  is 
not  many  miles  away.  Thither  we  rid  one  day  in 
coaches,  and  partook  of  an  al-fresco  collation  spread 
for  us  on  the  shore  among  the  sand-banks.  These 
people  of  Devon  make  a  cream  so  thick  and  rich  that 
instead  of  trickling  it  stands  in  lumps.  'Tis  most 
excellent  eat  with  pies  and  fruit ;  and  their  capons 
and  fowls  seem  plumper  and  sweeter  than  those  to 
be  got  in  or  near  London.  But  my  mistress  will 
have  'tis  not  so,  that  'tis  the  salt  in  the  air  which 
makes  us  so  hungry  that  it  gives  us  a  relish  for  every- 
thing we  eat  here.  Simply  '  mistress '  I  am  now  to 
call  her,  for  '  Mistress  Fanshawe  '  seems  too  formal 
and  '  Cousin  Anne'  too  familiar,  and  I  love  to  be  her 
servant.  Yet  'tis  not  much  service  I  have  done  her : 
singing  songs,  winding  skeins,  playing  at  shuttlecock, 
scarce  come  under  that  head.  My  dear  mistress  says 
that  at  such  times  as  they  shall  have  occasion  to 
come  to  London  she  will  summon  me  again  to  her 
service,  with  yours  and  my  father's  permission.  '  If 
it  be  still  theirs  to  ask,'  she  did  add  roguishly,  '  and 
they  have  not  by  then  given  you  into  the  keeping  of 
that  good  and  wise  husband.'  Then  to  tease  me  she 
ran  through  the  names,  fortunes,  and  commendations 
of  the  most  personable  Cavaliers  that  she  considers 
have  shown  me  attention  here  and  in  Bristol,  and  said 
if  I  liked  she  would  take  a  leaf  out  of  my  Lady 


220  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Eleanor  Davies'  book  and  tell  me  by  the  cards  which 
of  them  would  fall  to  my  lot.  But  'tis  her  converse 
in  graver  moods  that  is  most  pleasing  and  flattering 
to  me,  because  she  is  then  every  whit  as  free  and 
confidential. 

Mr.  Fanshawe  grows  in  the  Prince's  favour,  at 
which  Sir  Edward  Hyde  is  not  best  pleased.  Despite 
all  his  engagements  in  the  Prince's  business,  Mr. 
Fanshawe  has  found  time  to  put  the  finishing  touches 
to  his  translation  of  the  Italian  '  Pastor  Fido,'  which 
he  begun  at  Oxford.  He  bid  me  tell  my  father  this, 
for,  said  he,  '  I  know  his  love  for  poets  and  poetry 
equals  my  own.' 

I  need  not  have  writ  of  all  these  trifles  when  I 
shall  soon  have  the  opportunity  of  communicating 
them  and  a  hundred  more  to  you  by  word  of  mouth. 
Till  then,  adieu. 

Your  loving  daughter, 

LAUREL. 

For  MISTRESS  YOUNG, 
at  the  Gray  House  in  Chancery  Lane, 
London. 

July  SI- 
DEAR  MOTHER, 

Little  did  I  think  when  last  I  writ  out  of 
Barnstaple  that  I  should  not  have  reached  home  by 
now,  or  that  I  should  have  occasion  to  despatch  you 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  221 

another  letter,  and  from  this  village  hostel.  My 
Lady  Capel  has  promised  to  explain  how  she  came 
to  leave  me,  with  great  reluctancy,  behind  here  at 
the  Blue  Boar,  and  you  will  set  her  ladyship's 
mind  at  rest,  which,  methinks,  has  been  unduly 
exercised  as  to  whether  Hugh  1' Estrange,  who  lies 
here  deadly  sick  of  wounds  and  fever,  is  my  foster- 
brother  or  not.  Even  were  he  no  brother,  but  a 
mere  acquaintance,  I  should  scarce  have  been 
human  had  I  passed  by  on  the  other  side,  as  her 
ladyship  fain  would  have  had  me,  when  Providence, 
or  the  hazards  of  war — whichever  you  like  to  call  it 
— thus  brought  him  in  my  path,  with  wounds  very 
noisome  from  being  untended,  lying  on  straw  in  the 
sorriest  condition  conceivable.  'Twas  indeed  by 
chance  that  we  came  to  the  Blue  Boar  at  all,  for  had 
my  Lady  Capel's  horse  not  cast  a  shoe  we  should 
assuredly  not  have  stopped  at  the  inn  whilst  it  was 
taken  to  be  shod  at  the  blacksmith's  in  the  village 
street.  The  house  and  yard  being  full  of  Parliament 
troopers — who,  despite  their  godliness,  seemed  to 
be  drinking  as  deeply  of  the  landlady's  ale  as  any 
Cavaliers  could  have  done — we  went  out  to  rest  in 
an  arbour  in  the  garden. 

But,  as  we  drew  near  it,  groans  and  delirious 
babblings  fell  on  our  ear,  and  the  landlady  came 
running  from  the  yard.  '  Ladies,  don't  go  in  there  !' 


222  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

cried  she.  '  'Tis  a  wounded  musqueteer — no  sight 
for  pretty  ladies'  eyes.'  My  Lady  Capel  and  her 
women  turned  about,  but  I  felt  an  impulse  to  go 
on  to  see  what  the  cause  was  of  such  distressful 
sounds.  So  I  went  boldly  in,  and  there  lay 
Hugh  on  the  floor  of  the  arbour,  his  clothes  blood- 
stained, his  hair  matted,  his  face  and  eyes  aflame 
with  fever.  'Twas  a  grievous  sight,  mother.  I 
should  scarce  have  recognised  him,  he  being  the  last 
person  I  expected  to  see;  but,  unconscious  though 
he  was,  he  called  my  name  thrice.  All  his  strength 
seemed  in  his  voice,  for  he  was  too  weak  to  brush 
the  flies  from  his  forehead.  A  man-servant  of 
Lady  Capel's  did,  at  my  request,  rip  off  Hugh's 
doublet,  and  together  we  washed  and  dressed  the 
wounds  on  his  arm  and  chest,  I  tearing  up  my  hand- 
kerchief and  fine  lawn  chemisette  for  the  purpose. 

Ay,  glad  am  I  that,  thanks  to  your  teaching,  I 
am  not  squeamish,  and  understand  the  bandaging  of 
sores,  and  how  to  concoct  balsams  of  herbs  and 
plaisters.  Such  knowledge  has  proved  useful,  and 
hath  served  Hugh  in  good  stead.  He  is  eased  of 
much  of  his  pain,  though  still  too  fevered  to  know 
who  his  leech  and  nurse  may  be.  I  had  hardly  gotten 
well  to  my  work  when  an  urgent  summons  came 
from  my  Lady  Capel  to  say  her  party  must  get  to 
horse  without  more  delay,  and  would  I  be  pleased 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  223 

not  to  keep  them  waiting.  I  sent  back  a  message 
that  they  must  go  without  me.  This  brought  my 
lady  herself  to  the  door  of  the  arbour  in  great 
dudgeon.  She  was  answerable,  both  to  Mrs.  Fan- 
shawe  and  my  parents,  she  declared,  for  my  safe 
passage  to  London,  and  how  was  I  to  get  there 
without  the  aid  of  her  pass  ?  I  had  better  come  at 
once. 

'  Would  you,  my  lady,'  asked  I,  '  leave  your 
brother  if  you  had  chanced  to  find  him  in  so 
desperate  and  bleeding  a  plight  as  this  ?' 

'  Brother  ?'  she  exclaimed.  '  I  see  no  trace  of  a 
family  resemblance  betwixt  you.  And  how  comes 
your  brother  to  be  here,  alone  and  uncared  for  ?  And 
why  do  none  in  yonder  hot-bed  of  Roundheads 
concern  themselves  about  him,  as  he  wears  their 
colours?' 

That  I  could  not  say,  for  'twas  not  till  some  time 
after  my  Lady  Capel  had  abandoned  her  attempts 
to  turn  me  from  my  resolution,  and  she  and  her 
cavalcade  had  clattered  off,  leaving  me  one  servant 
for  protection,  that  I  learned  from  the  landlady  how 
Hugh  came  to  be  here.  His  presence  had  no  con- 
nection with  that  of  the  Parliamentarian  troopers, 
who  had  arrived  but  the  night  before,  and  were 
leaving  at  noon  to  follow  General  Fairfax  into 
Somerset.  The  hostel  had  been  crowded  with 


224  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Cavaliers,  mostly  fugitives  from  Naseby  Field,  when 
Hugh  had  been  brought  in  swooning  by  a  gentleman 
wearing  a  perruque  and  short  red  cloak,  armed  with 
a  long  rapier  and  pistols,  whom  the  landlady  took 
for  a  '  soldier  of  fortune.'  There  being  hardly  stand- 
ing room  in  the  house,  and  the  weather  extreme 
hot,  he  had  laid  his  fainting  companion  in  the 
arbour,  and  afterwards  had  sat  up  all  night  dicing  in 
turns  with  half  a  dozen  others.  At  cockcrow  he  had 
counted  his  winnings  and  rid  away,  saying  he  had 
important  business  in  London. 

The  landlady's  excuse  for  having  paid  such  scant 
attention  to  Hugh's  needs  is  that  the  inroads  of  first 
one  army  and  then  of  the  other  had  near  driven  her 
out  of  her  wits. 

'  There's  not  a  pin  to  choose  betwixt  them,'  she 
said.  '  If  the  Cavaliers  are  the  worst  for  drinking 
and  gaming,  'tis  the  Roundheads  who  eat  one  out  of 
house  and  home,  and  split  one's  ears  with  their 
psalm-singing.  They  have  not  left  a  fowl  in  the 
roost.  Were  I  a  wife  and  a  mother,  instead  of  a 
poor,  lone,  childless  widow,  I'd  hound  on  my 
husband  and  sons  to  rise  against  both  of  'em  and 
join  the  clubmen.' 

'Tis  quiet  enough  here  now,  since  the  Roundheads 
went,  but  the  poor  woman  says  'tis  only  a  lull  in  the 
storm.  I  am  despatching  this  post-haste  by  Lady 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  225 

Capel's  man,  and  pray  that  a  litter  and  an  escort 
may  be  sent  hither  to  be  in  readiness  for  Hugh's 
removal.  Tell  Silence  Hugh  shall  not  die  if  I  can 
help  it. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

LAUREL. 


THE  CARNATION  CLOSET, 
AT  THE  GRAY  HOUSE, 

February,  1646. 

ONCE  I  writ  in  this  book  of  news  coming  to  London 
from  every  quarter  of  success  for  the  King's  cause : 
of  battles  won  and  towns  taken  by  the  King's 
Generals  ;  now  'tis  all  the  other  way.  '  The  whirli- 
gig of  time,'  as  Sir  Oracle  says,  '  has  brought  in  its 
revenges.'  After  vanquishing  the  Royalists  at  Naseby, 
the  Generals  Fairfax  and  Cromwell  have,  by  long 
marches  and  swift  blows,  achieved  one  victory  after 
another,  taking  strong  towns  and  forts  without 
number,  till  all  the  West  and  nearly  the  whole 
country  is  being  reduced  to  the  obedience  of  the 
Parliament. 

Through  this  sharp  and  bitter  winter  the  new 
army  has  not  rested.  I  have  heard  people  say  here 
in  London,  where  its  triumphs  over  a  gallant  and 
potent  enemy  cause  great  rejoicing,  that  Almighty 
God  has  exercised  a  miraculous  providence  over  the 

[226] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  227 

camp,  in  which  no  vices,  wantonness,  oaths,  or  pro- 
fane words  go  unpunished. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  there  cannot  exist  any  doubt  of 
the  low  ebb  the  royal  fortunes  have  now  reached. 
Prince  Rupert  has  thrown  up  the  game  since  he  lost 
Bristol  for  the  King,  and  is  gone  out  of  England  with 
his  brother. 

His  Majesty,  'tis  said,  still  clings  to  the  hope  that 
the  intrigues  and  secret  treaties  he  authorized  his 
devoted  Catholic  servant,  Lord  Glamorgan,  to  enter 
into  with  the  Irish  rebels  may  yet  bear  fruit,  and  at 
least  save  Chester.  This  looked-for  aid  hath  failed 
him  hitherto,  as  has  that  of  the  Queen's  promised 
Lorrainers. 

When  the  King's  cabinet  of  letters,  taken  at 
Naseby,  was  opened  at  the  Guildhall,  and  passages 
therefrom  read  to  the  citizens,  all  London  rang  with 
indignation  at  the  duplicity  this  correspondence  with 
Lord  Ormond  and  with  his  Queen  was  supposed  to 
reveal. 

Many  good  men,  my  husband  among  them,  thought 
it  matter  for  regret  that  the  King's  actions  agreed  so 
ill  with  his  words,  and  that  while  he  had  professed 
the  preservation  of  the  Protestant  religion  was  dear 
to  his  heart,  he  had  been  promising  favours  to  the 
Roman  Catholics  in  Ireland,  and  that  the  laws  made 
to  punish  them  when  they  had  risen  and  murdered 

15—2 


228  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

the  Protestants  in  cold  blood  after  Lord  Stratford's 
death  should  not  any  longer  be  enforced  against 
them  if  they  sent  20,000  men  to  assist  him  in 
England. 

He  had  said  that  he  abhorred  the  idea  of  bringing 
foreign  soldiers  into  the  kingdom,  and  yet  had 
solicited,  through  his  Queen,  the  Duke  of  Lorraine 
for  help.  The  citizens  and  the  Parliament  expressed 
themselves  sorely  displeased  at  the  King  being  so 
much  ruled  by  the  will  of  his  wife  ;  for  these  letters 
showed  that  he  did  everything  by  her  prescript,  and 
that  she  dictated  to  him  in  matters  concerning  peace 
and  war,  Church  and  Parliament.  The  King  is 
mightily  unfortunate  in  that  all  his  plots  are  sooner 
or  later  brought  to  light.  For  hardly  had  the  excite- 
ment in  London  caused  by  the  making  public  of  the 
Naseby  letters  somewhat  subsided  than  more  papers 
and  a  duplicate  of  his  secret  warrant  to  Lord 
Glamorgan  were  taken  in  October  at  the  Battle  of 
Sligo,  from  the  coach  of  the  slain  Archbishop  of 
Tuam. 

At  that  time  Hugh  1' Estrange  was  lying  'twixt  life 
and  death  in  this  house  ;  the  dangerous  wound  at  the 
back  of  his  head,  which  the  chirurgeon  thought  to  be 
of  later  date  than  those  on  his  chest  and  arm,  gotten 
by  bullets  at  Naseby,  causing  his  fever  to  break  out 
anew  and  run  high  for  many  weeks.  His  recovery 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  229 

was  slow,  and  at  times  despaired  of,  and  even  now 
his  right  hand  is  maimed  through  the  injury  to  his 
arm,  and  he  is  still  disabled  for  either  soldiering  or 
dialling,  though  he  has  returned  to  Master  Haynes. 

In  his  sickness  Laurel  has  been  a  tender  nurse 
to  him  here,  as  she  was  his  nurse  and  leech  withal 
at  the  wayside  hostel,  where  'twas  she  chanced  to 
hap  on  Hugh  in  woeful  plight  on  her  road  from 
Barnstable  in  company  with  my  Lady  Capel. 

Laurel  seemed,  when  she  brought  Hugh  home,  to 
have  forgot  that  there  was  ever  any  estrangement 
betwixt  them,  and  all  her  proud  little  airs  towards 
him.  He  might  have  been  battered  and  banged  in 
the  Royalist  cause  instead  of  against  it  so  over- 
whelmed was  she  with  pity  and  concernment  for  him 
in  his  helplessness  and  pain. 

Laurel  would  not  resign  her  care  of  Hugh  to  me 
or  anyone,  and  'twas  she  who  gave  orders  that  he 
should  be  laid  in  the  green-velvet  room  instead  of 
taken  upstairs  to  the  smaller  guest-chamber,  which 
has  been  called  in  the  house  Hugh's  chamber  since 
he  occupied  it  when  they  came  from  Blois. 

After  Naseby  fight,  when  weeks  went  by  and  no 
tidings  had  come  of  Hugh,  though  we  sent  daily  for 
them  to  Master  Haynes  in  Cheapside,  poor  Silence 
fell  into  a  lethargy  of  misery.  She  would  not  rise, 
and  only  with  difficulty  could  be  prevailed  on  to 


230  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

touch  food.  Olave  lost  his  favourite  playmate,  and 
all  his  baby  wiles  failed  to  charm  a  smile  from 
Silence's  pale,  sad  lips.  She  declared  repeatedly  on 
her  tablets  that  in  a  dream  she  had  seen  Hugh  being 
done  to  death,  not  in  battle,  but  in  some  private, 
lonely  place.  So  when  at  last  he  was  brought  to  the 
Gray  House,  half  dead,  Silence  rose  and  came  out  of 
her  chamber,  near  to  rejoicing  because  he  was  not 
wholly  dead,  as  she  had  so  feared.  But  she  soon 
relapsed  into  grief  again,  for  she  could  not  tolerate 
the  sight  of  his  pain  ;  and  whilst  Laurel  watched  by 
him  and  laid  salves  on  his  hurts,  Silence  lay  crouched 
up  outside  the  door  like  a  faithful  dog,  not  daring  to 
enter,  but  listening  with  her  great,  wistful  eyes. 

Hugh  was  unlike  himself  in  fever  in  that  he  was 
exceeding  talkative.  In  his  delirious  wanderings  he 
told  us  more  of  the  fatal  fray  among  the  ditches  and 
blackthorn  hedges  of  Naseby  plain  than  we  should 
ever  have  learned  from  him  had  he  been  conscious. 
At  his  bedside  we  heard  how  the  Puritan  watchword 
'  God  for  us  !'  rang  through  the  summer  air ;  how  at 
first  it  seemed  as  if  Prince  Rupert's  dashing  charge 
would  sweep  all  before  it  and  carry  the  day,  Ireton 
being  taken  prisoner,  and  the  lion-hearted  Skippon, 
idol  of  the  Londoners,  of  the  '  Yellow  Regiment,'  fall- 
ing wounded  in  their  midst ;  how  Fairfax's  helmet 
had  been  beaten  off,  and  he  had  fought  bareheaded 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  231 

in  a  rain  of  bullets,  his  high  stature,  floating  black 
curls,  and  short  red  cloak  giving  him  so  strong  a 
likeness  to  Prince  Rupert  that  one  of  the  Prince's 
own  men  once  actually  addressed  him  for  His  High- 
ness; how  Cromwell's  Ironsides  did  their  deadly 
work,  and  the  King,  giving  a  courageous  command 
for  a  last  rally,  had  his  bridle  pulled,  which  turned 
his  horse,  and  on  the  instant  caused  the  whole  of  his 
shattered  army  to  turn  likewise  and  fly  in  wildest 
disorder.  This  outline  of  what  had  happened  at 
Naseby  we  pieced  together  from  Hugh's  fevered 
gabbling,  with  the  help  of  facts  we  knew  before  from 
the  news-sheets.  But  the  pieces  for  the  puzzle  of 
Hugh's  adventure  during  the  time  'twixt  the  battle 
and  his  coming  to  the  hostel  where  Laurel  found 
him  were  more  complicated.  He  did  rave  much 
about  a  letter  in  cipher — the  '  Queen's  letter '  he  called 
it.  It  had  been  in  his  possession  and  been  stolen 
from  him,  that  was  clear ;  but  how  had  he  come  by 
it,  and  how  lost  it  ?  It  seemed  as  if  after  the  battle 
he  may  have  regained  his  consciousness,  lying  in  the 
moonlight  among  the  dead  and  dying  somewhere 
near  the  spot  where  the  routed  Cavaliers'  baggage 
train  had  stood,  and  had  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
grasp  something  white — a  paper  on  which  the  moon 
shone.  Maybe  in  the  m£lee  and  rush  it  had  been 
shaken  from  that  captured  cabinet  of  the  King's 


232  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

— over  which  so  much  ado  has  been  made — or  even 
fallen  from  His  Majesty's  saddle.  Over  and  over 
again  in  his  delirium  Hugh  would  try  to  stretch  out 
his  wounded  arm  and  seize  some  imaginary  object. 
Next  he  would  be  feeling  for  it  beneath  his  jerkin ; 
then  there  would  be  a  terrible  struggle  with  a  foe  of 
air,  and  the  letter  was  gone.  But  Hugh  was  not 
always  in  the  wars  as  he  wandered.  Sometimes  he 
was  back  on  his  bench  at  Master  Haynes's  '  carving 
out  dials  point  by  point,'  or  in  sober  converse  with 
Mistress  Margaret  in  the  spacious  parlour  upstairs. 
He  looked  through  the  great  telescope  on  the  leads 
at  the  planet  Venus,  invoking  it  as  '  brightest  and 
fairest  Queen  of  the  heavens,  unrivalled  among  stars, 
as  my  love  is  among  maids.'  And  then  he  was  in  the 
old  Blois  garden,  calling  on  his  '  love '  with  so  much 
passionate  pleading  that  Laurel  turned  to  me  sigh- 
ingly and  whispered  : 

'  Would  that  Silence's  ears  could  be  unstopped  for 
five  minutes,  that  she  might  hear  him  !' 

'  Silence  is  not  his  love,'  said  I. 

'  Tut !  I  will  never  believe  'tis  Mistress  Margaret,' 
she  made  retort. 

'  No,  'tis  not  Mistress  Margaret.' 

And,  as  if  to  confirm  me,  Hugh  burst  forth  again  : 

'  My  love !  Her  name  is  Laurel.  But  laurels — 
such  laurels  as  my  love — are  not  for  me  to  win. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  233 

They   crown  gallant  poets  with  beautiful   souls  in 
beautiful  bodies,  not  misshapen  prentices.' 

Laurel  dropped  on  her  knees,  and  bowed  her  nut- 
brown  head  over  the  feverish  left  hand,  clasped  in 
her  cool  fingers.  Methought  she  knew  now,  if  she 
had  not  known  before,  who  was  poor  Hugh's  love. 

When  Hugh  crept  back  from  the  gates  of  death 
to  health,  Laurel  would  fain  have  questioned  him 
about  the  letter  that  we  had  heard  so  much  of  whilst 
he  lay  sick,  but  our  chirurgeon,  Dr.  Bathurst,  forbad 
it,  saying  Hugh's  overwrought  brain  had  best  be 
allowed  to  rest,  and  unless  he  spake  of  the  events 
that  brought  him  to  so  pitiful  a  condition,  'twas  not 
for  us  to  revive  his  memory  of  them.  Laurel  would 
not  for  the  world  forfeit  Dr.  Bathurst's  good  opinion 
of  her  skill  as  a  sick-nurse,  so  she  has  been  content 
to  divert  Hugh  in  his  convalescence  by  reading  or 
singing  to  him,  and  has  broken  the  vow  she  once 
made  never  to  play  chess  with  him  again. 

Since  the  eve  of  Naseby,  when  he  abruptly 
disappeared,  we  had  heard  and  seen  nothing  of 
Mr.  Taller,  whom  Gabriel  commissioned  to  draw 
up  a  new  catalogue  of  his  books  and  manuscripts, 
till  the  forenoon  last  month  that  I  walked  with  my 
husband  to  Mr.  Husband's,  the  bookseller  and 
printer  to  the  Commons,  whose  shop  is  at  the 


234  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Golden  Dragon,  in  Fleet  Street,  near  the  Inner 
Temple.  It  happened  to  be  the  day  on  which,  by 
order  of  the  Parliament,  Mr.  Husband  had  printed 
and  published  His  Majesty's  secret  papers,  taken  at 
Sligo  three  months  agone.  Their  contents  having 
been  kept  private  for  so  long  had  raised  curiosity 
regarding  them  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  crowds 
were  pressing  round  the  shop,  eager  to  obtain  a 
copy  of  the  pamphlet  published  under  the  title 
of  '  The  Irish  Cabinet ;  or,  His  Majesty's  Secret 
Transactions  for  Establishing  the  Papal  Clergy  in 
Ireland.  With  other  Matters  of  High  Consequence 
taken  in  the  Carriage  of  the  Archbishop  at  Tuam, 
who  was  slain  in  the  Late  Fight  at  Sligo  in  that 
Kingdom.' 

On  a  table  in  front  of  the  shop  were  piles  of  the 
pamphlet  fresh  from  the  press,  rapidly  diminishing, 
however,  as  the  purchasers  carried  them  off,  many 
reading  passages  to  themselves  or  aloud  as  they  went 
along  the  street,  with  great  groans  and  execrations. 
In  this  crowd  I  saw  Mr.  Taller,  in  his  shabby  black 
cloak,  walking  away,  as  if  in  a  hurry,  with  the  book 
under  his  arm,  and  his  eyes  cast  down.  The 
excitement  about  the  King's  papers  was  so  intense 
that  no  one  talked  of  aught  else,  and  Gabriel  had  to 
abandon  the  purpose  of  his  errand  to  the  Golden 
Dragon,  which  concerned  something  as  remote  from 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  235 

the  burning  question  of  the  hour  as  the  illuminated 
manuscript  of  an  old  French  romance,  '  The 
Romaunt  of  the  Rose.' 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  Gabriel  took 
barge  for  Kingston,  he  being  summoned  to  the 
death-bed  of  one  of  his  kinsfolk  there,  and  hence  it 
came  to  pass  that,  on  the  next  day,  I  was  without 
my  Sir  Oracle's  counsel  and  support  in  an  extra- 
ordinary situation. 

We  were  assembled  in  the  nursery,  where  Hugh 
had  been  practising  his  left  hand  in  the  fashioning 
and  painting  of  a  reflective  dial,  now  nearly  finished, 
on  the  ceiling.  My  little  Viking  watched  him, 
earnest  and  enthralled,  whilst  Silence  took  delight 
in  handing  to  him  his  compass  and  other  implements 
in  the  order  he  wanted  to  use  them.  A  piece  of 
looking-glass  was  fixed  horizontally  in  one  of  the 
southern  windows,  reflecting  the  rays  of  the  pale 
January  sun  upon  the  hour-lines.  Old  Marie,  in 
blue  stuff  gown,  white  cap,  and  sabots,  sat  by  the 
wide  hearth,  with  Olave's  playthings  scattered,  where 
he  had  left  them,  at  her  feet,  and  his  horn-book  in 
her  lap.  The  ruddy  glow  from  the  blazing  logs  put 
to  shame  the  faint,  wintry  sunlight,  and  flickered 
and  danced  on  the  old  face,  with  its  thousands  of 
wrinkles,  on  the  young  figures  grouped  beneath  the 
dial,  and  on  the  shining  dark-oak  beams  and  the 


236  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

needlework  pictures  wrought  for  Olave  by  Silence's 
skilled,  untiring  fingers. 

Laurel,  who  stood  near  the  window,  with  her  eyes 
bent  on  the  piece  of  looking-glass,  exclaimed  of  a 
sudden : 

'  There's  a  face  in  the  glass — nay,  but  now  it  hath 
vanished  again  !' 

I  went  quickly  and  pushed  open  a  lattice,  and 
beheld  a  man  standing  on  the  outside  stone  stairway 
below. 

'  Who  goes  there  ?'  I  called  out. 

'  One  who  craves  your  pardon  and  mercy,  madam, 
and  permission  to  take  refuge  beneath  your  roof.' 

The  voice  was  Mr.  Taller's,  but  'twas  no  Mr. 
Taller  who,  without  waiting  for  the  permission  he 
craved,  immediately  passed  into  the  house,  and, 
with  swift  steps,  ascended  and  broke  in  on  us 
breathlessly. 

I  recognised  the  face  of  deathly  hue,  the  fine-cut 
features — their  beauty  marred  by  the  lines  evil  living 
had  left  on  them — the  abundant  locks  of  tawny  red, 
and  the  lowering  brows. 

He  stood  there,  unmasked  and  undisguised,  in 
sparkish  but  tawdry  clothes,  the  gold  lace  on  his 
coat  tarnished,  his  riband  knots  soiled,  his  boots  so 
very  high  and  deeply  turned  down  that  his  legs  must 
needs  straggle  apart.  There  was  a  hunted  look  in 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  237 

his  eyes,  which  roved  restlessly  from  Laurel  to  me, 
and  then  again  to  Laurel,  oblivious,  apparently,  of 
the  others'  presence  in  the  room. 

'  I  am  tracked — run  to  earth,'  said  he.  '  At  this 
moment  they  are  searching  for  me  in  the  next  house, 
where  I  have  lodged,  and  the  rabble  is  at  the  door, 
thirsting  for  my  blood.  You  know  what  a  London 
rabble  is  !  'Tis  the  publishing  of  these  Irish  papers 
that  hath  incensed  them  to  madness.  Fools ! 
what  understanding  have  they  of  the  matter  ? 
Where  is  the  infamy  of  a  Sovereign  granting  his 
Irish  subjects  the  liberty  to  exercise  the  religion  of 
their  forefathers — the  religion  they  would  die  for  a 
hundred  times  over,  which  for  them  is  the  only 
religion  ?  I  will  be  open  with  you  now,  for  naught 
is  to  be  gained  by  being  otherwise.  I  was  an  agent 
of  the  late  Archbishop  of  Tuam  and  of  Lord 
Glamorgan.  I  have  moved  heaven  and  earth,  and 
gone  through  fire  and  water,  to  serve  the  Catholic 
Church  and  to  save  the  King.  At  this  extremity 
only  the  Irish  can  save  him.  I  have  carried  letters 
from  the  Queen  in  France  to  the  King,  and  from  the 
King  to  the  Nuncio  and  Lord  Glamorgan,  and  from 
Lord  Glamorgan  to  the  Lord-Lieutenant.  In  all  my 
comings  and  goings  I  ever  found  London  the  safest 
haven  wherein  to  lie  at  anchor  till  to-day,  when 
'tis  like  to  prove  a  death-trap.  Through  the  circu- 


238  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

lating  of  this  cursed  pamphlet,  I,  Dominico  Spinola, 
am  discovered  and  undone,  and  driven  to  throw  my- 
self on  the  pity  of  you  gentlewomen  to  save  my  life  !' 

'Twas  surprising  that  he  could  speak  so  much  and 
so  composedly  with  an  outraged  mob  almost  on  his 
heels.  He  betrayed  his  fear  only  in  his  eyes,  which 
turned  constantly,  like  those  of  a  hunted  animal, 
in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

'  The  name,  sir,  you  call  yourself  by,'  said  I,  '  is 
not  the  name  under  which  you  have  sought  hospitality 
in  this  house  before.' 

'  No,  that  is  true,'  he  answered  coolly ;  '  the 
service  I  am  engaged  in  requires  more  names  than 
one,  and  more  faces.'  He  listened,  and  then  went 
on  :  '  Hark !  I  hear  the  roar  of  the  mob  in  the  street. 
They  are  yelling  "Jesuit,"  of  course.  In  their 
ignorance  they  have  no  conception  of  the  true  mean- 
ing of  the  word,  or  of  what  a  Jesuit  is.  To  them  'tis 
like  a  red  rag  to  the  bull,  and  stands  for  everything 
that  is  iniquitous  and  villainous.  I  am  no  Jesuit  in 
the  right  or  the  wrong  sense,  but  I  shall  be  torn  limb 
from  limb  for  a  Jesuit  by  these  infuriated  people  if 
you  do  not  hide  me,  madam.  They  could  not  wait 
for  their  prey  to  be  imprisoned  and  sentenced  to  the 
gallows  in  their  present  temper,  but  assuredly  would 
execute  justice  on  me  themselves.  The  constable 
who  seeks  me  in  the  next  house  would  be  powerless 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  239 

to  keep  me  from  their  clutches.  I  do  not  flatter 
myself  that  my  escape  from  the  back  was  not 
witnessed  by  someone.  Unless  I  am  hid  till  the 
search  is  abandoned  I  must  be  taken,  drawn  and 
quartered.' 

In  every  word  he  uttered  he  appealed  more  to 
Laurel  than  to  me,  and  at  last  he  turned  to  her  and 
said  : 

'You  remember  the  aged  minstrel  at  Oxford  on 
whom  you  took  compassion  :  here  stands  one  far 
more  in  need  of  it.  Hide  me,  for  God's  sake  !' 

'  Mother,'  Laurel  said, '  this  gentleman  says  he  has 
been  through  fire  and  water  to  save  the  King.  Let 
us  save  him.  There  is  the  secret  closet  behind  the 
bed-head  in  the  velvet  room.  I  will  take  him  thither.' 

All  this  had  passed  much  more  quickly  than  I  can 
write  it,  and  only  at  that  moment  did  I  look  at 
Hugh  and  note  the  change  which  had  come  over 
him.  •  He  had  completely  lost  his  serenity,  and  was 
leaning  against  the  platform  on  which  he  had  stood 
to  put  the  finishing  touches  to  his  dial.  His  teeth 
were  fiercely  set,  his  fingers  clenched,  and  his  eyes 
darting  fire.  The  agonized  expression  which  his 
countenance  had  worn  in  his  fever  was  there  again. 
Silence  put  her  hand  through  his  uninjured  arm,  and 
her  head  was  close  to  his  as  she  gazed  at  him 
anxiously. 


240        AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Olave  had  scurried  back  to  old  Marie's  lap, 
extremely  fearful  of  the  strange  intruder  on  the  peace 
of  his  nursery  kingdom. 

'  Mother,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost,'  Laurel 
cried.  '  You  know  how  the  closet  opens,  for  you 
have  told  me  that  father  showed  you  on  your  wedding- 
day.  Come,  let  us  take  the  gentleman  to  the  velvet 
room.' 

I  hesitated  still. 

'  I  am  not  sure,'  I  said,  '  that  your  father-  will 
approve  of  our  harbouring  a  recusant  whilst  he  is 
away.' 

'  Far  less  would  he  approve  that  a  man  should  be 
dragged  from  his  house  to  perish  at  the  hands  of  an 
angry  mob,'  she  answered  with  impatience. 

'  Show  me  the  hiding-place,  I  beseech  and  pray 
you,  madam,'  the  hunted  agent  exclaimed,  casting 
more  of  those  furtive  and  listening  glances  at  the 
door  behind  him.  '  Tis  true  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost.' 

Then  'twas  that  Hugh  leapt  forward  suddenly  and 
spoke  in  a  voice  of  passion,  which  he  could  scarce 
control : 

'  He  is  my  enemy,  this  man,  though  I  never  met 
him  face  to  face  in  the  field.  He  took  advantage  of 
my  weakness  from  wounds,  gotten  in  honourable 
warfare,  and  after  cozening  and  tricking  me,  he  struck 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  241 

me  down  from  behind  and  robbed  me  of  a  paper 
which  of  my  own  free  will  I  would  have  yielded  up  to 
none  but  our  Generalissimo.  When  I  was  sick  unto 
death  he  deserted  me,  left  me  to  die  like  a  dog  by  the 
way.  He  has  told  you  that  he  is  a  Papal  agent,  and 
has  made  a  brag  of  the  service  he's  rendered  to  the 
King ;  but  he  has  forgot  to  give  you  his  whole 
character,  and  did  not  say  that  he  was  a  spy  and 
gamester  withal,  who  doth  rook  his  friends  at  cards 
and  dice.  I  say,  then,  don't  hide  and  shield  him 

from  the  law  ;  let ' 

'  Hold,  young  man  !'  broke  in  the  other  ;  '  for  if  I 
am  all  you  say,  I  am  yet  something  more — your 
father !' 

Hugh  staggered  back  as  if  under  a  blow.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  sank  on  to  a 
settle. 

'  Would,  then,  that  I  had  never  been  born !'  he 
groaned,  the  fierce  storm  of  wrath  and  defiance  that 
had  so  shaken  him  giving  place  to  an  outburst  of 
grief  piteous  to  behold.  The  pent-up  grief  of  his 
young  lifetime,  methought,  for  the  cruel  sufferings 
at  the  hands  of  this  man,  of  the  forsaken,  gentle 
little  mother,  who  had  not  lived  to  nurture  him  up. 

Father  and  son !  Could  it  be  ?  Nay  ;  could  it 
not  be  ?  So  alike  and  yet  so  different  were  those 
two  ashen  faces  that  had  confronted  each  other  in 

16 


242  AN  OLD  LONDVN  NOSEGAY 

anger.  The  curious  tawny  tint  and  the  waviness  of 
the  hair — Hugh's  had  grown  again  in  his  fever — the 
set  of  the  eyebrows,  even  to  the  peculiarity  of  one 
being  slightly  thicker  than  the  other  ;  the  pose  of  the 
head — all  these  were  alike.  But  how  unlike  the 
expression  of  the  eyes,  the  shape  of  the  chin,  and 
curve  of  the  lips  ! 

Father  and  son  !  and  betwixt  them  a  bitter  enmity 
sprung  up  ere  the  relationship  was  known  to  the  son, 
and  not  to  be  quenched  the  instant  'twas  revealed. 

The  absorbing  thought  that  a  life  was  in  peril,  a 
life  she  might  help  to  save,  belike  deadened  the  shock 
of  this  revelation  to  Laurel.  I  could  scarce  believe 
that  she  had  heard  or  understood  it  when  she  went 
running  to  the  green-velvet  chamber,  and,  flying 
back  in  a  twinkling,  exclaimed : 

'  Mother,  mother !  come  at  once  and  open  the 
closet.  Prithee,  come !  I  have  looked  from  the 
window  into  the  Lane,  and  the  officers  are  come 
forth  from  the  next  house.  The  mob  is  surging 
round  them,  and  clamours  and  roars  for  its  victim. 
Any  moment  they  may  be  coming  this  way.' 

And  again  she  turned  to  go,  motioning  me  and 
Hugh's  father  to  follow  her.  Ere  he  left  the  nursery 
he  looked  back  at  his  son. 

'  He  to  whom  I  gave  life  is  mighty  desirous  I 
should  lose  it.  Filial  gratitude  !'  he  sneered. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  243 

Hugh  made  no  rejoinder,  and  kept  his  head 
bowed  in  his  hand.  Silence  was  on  her  knees 
beside  him,  sobbing  and  pressing  her  cheek  against 
his  shoulder.  Her  wondrous  dumb  devotion  would 
fain  make  amends  to  him  for  that  love  of  parents  he 
had  never  known. 

'  Begone,  wicked  man,  ugly  man !'  cried  little 
Olave,  seating  himself  erect  on  Marie's  lap.  '  You've 
made  Hugh  cry,  and  Silence  cry,  and  Olave  cry. 
Fie !  begone  !'  and  he  burst  out  a-weeping,  swept  by 
the  emotions  of  his  elders,  beyond  the  comprehen- 
sion, but  not  the  sympathy,  of  his  baby  soul. 

'  Ne  pleure  pas,  ne  pleure  pas,  mon  ange,' 
crooned  Marie.  '  Maman  shall  lock  up  mechant 
monsieur  in  a  cupboard  dark.' 

'  Even  the  lips  of  babes  and  hags  curse  me,'  he 
said,  with  a  scoffing  smile.  '  Now,  then,  madam,  to 
the  "  cupboard  dark."  ' 

'I  felt  an  unwillingness  still,  nigh  to  disgust,  at 
hiding  the  man,  till  I  looked  down  from  the  window 
where  Laurel  was  stationed,  in  the  velvet  room, 
and  then  I  realized,  as  I  had  not  done  before,  the 
danger  and  horror  of  his  position.  I  saw  the  crowd 
gathered  in  front  of  the  next  house,  swaying  to  and 
fro,  waving  cudgels,  and  hurling  stones  at  the 
windows,  even  threatening  the  constables,  who  they 
thought  had  let  the  object  of  their  hate  and 

16 — 2 


244  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

indignation  escape.  Terrible  indeed  to  be  so  hated 
— to  have  excited  that  mad  fury  which,  'tis  said,  can 
transform  ordinary  peaceable  beings  into  wild  beasts. 
Their  yells,  howls,  and  execrations  filled  the  air,  and 
as  I  looked  down  on  the  sea  of  agitated  heads,  and 
caught  sight  of  women's  faces,  scowling  and  brutal 
as  those  of  the  men,  I  wondered  how  'twas  that  in 
more  ordinary  times  one  never  met  with  .such  faces 
in  the  streets  of  London.  Only  in  tumults  like  this,  or 
at  an  execution  on  Tower  Hill,  did  they  come  to  the 
surface.  Where  had  they  lain  hid  every  day  ?  or  was 
it  indeed  true  that  the  everyday  aspect  of  these 
shouting,  leaping  fiends  was  placid  and  indifferent  ? 
The  constables,  who  were  armed,  stood  above  the 
crowd,  on  the  steps  of  the  portico,  seeming  engaged 
in  a  consultation  as  to  whether  'twere  advisable  to 
search  the  Gray  House.  Then  they  moved,  and  the 
whole  mob,  facing  about,  moved  too,  and  'twas  in 
our  direction. 

I  ran  and  knelt  down,  my  fingers  feeling  for  the 
spring  that  opened  the  secret  door  behind  the  head 
of  the  bed — the  bed  whereon  Hugh  had  tossed  night 
after  night,  and  fought  again  at  Naseby  in  his 
delirium,  and  struggled  with  the  mysterious  foe  we 
now  knew  to  have  been  his  father — the  man  who 
cowered  by  me  like  a  hunted  fox  watchirfg  to  dart 
into  its  hole. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  245 

Since  Gabriel  had  shown  me,  when  he  brought 
me  home  on  my  bridal  day,  the  trick  by  which  the 
invisible  door  in  the  panels  opened,  I  had  not  tried 
it,  and  so  at  this  emergency  I  fumbled  for  the  spring 
in  vain.  I  couldn't  light  on  it. 

'  Mother,  make  haste !'  Laurel  called  from  her 
post.  '  The  steward  has  let  the  constables  pass  the 
gatehouse.  Why  are  you  so  slow?' 

'  I  have  forgot  how  to  open  the  closet,'  I  said. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  dismay,  and  the  man,  in  his 
desperation  and  abject  fear,  which  he  could  no  longer 
conceal  by  bravado,  pushed  me  roughly  aside,  and, 
going  on  his  knees,  fumbled  himself  for  the  spring. 

Above  the  chorus  of  inarticulate  howls  the  mob 
kept  up  without  the  gatehouse  distinct  detached 
cries  reached  our  ears,  and  a  voice  of  higher  pitch 
than  the  rest  shouting :  '  Bring  him  forth,  the 
Papist  agent  of  the  Pope,  the  traitor  who  would  have 
the  King  bribe  the  Irish  monsters  and  murderers ! 
Bring  him  forth  !  Likely  'tis  he  lies  in  this  house 
— the  house  of  one  who  is  a  malignant  for  certain,  or 
why  has  he  foreign  Papists  amongst  his  servants  ?' 

A  new  fear  on  behalf  of  Juan  and  Alphonse 
flashed  through  me.  What  if  they  should  show 
themselves,  and  be  seized  by  these  infuriated  bigots, 
who  held  my  husband  to  be  a  malignant  because  he 
employed  them  ! 


246  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

The  cause  of  their  rage  and  excitement  was  now 
hammering  and  beating  the  panels  with  his  fists, 
murmuring  oaths,  and  vowing  that  he  believed  I 
had  tricked  and  deceived  him,  and  that  there  was  no 
secret  door  in  the  wall. 

Laurel,  meanwhile,  to  gain  time,  went  out  to 
parley  with  the  constables.  I,  taking  her  place  at 
the  window,  saw  her  advance  into  the  courtyard  to 
meet  them.  As  I  write  this,  the  picture  comes 
before  my  eyes  of  her  standing  fearlessly  on  the 
flagstones,  in  full  view  of  the  angry  people  at  our 
gates.  She  was  perfectly  at  her  ease  and  collected, 
at  which  I  marvelled,  for  within  the  house  she  had 
been  flitting  hither  and  thither  in  wild  agitation. 
With  a  stately  grace  she  stood  there,  showing  the 
beautiful  curve  of  her  wrist  and  arm,  bare  to  the 
elbow  beneath  the  lace  of  her  sleeve.  As  she  held 
back  the  long,  straight  folds  of  her  dark  satin  gown, 
the  chill  wind  played  with  her  hair,  and  stirred  the 
edges  of  the  point-lace  on  her  shoulders.  Not 
brighter  than  her  flashing  eyes  were  the  precious 
stones  in  the  clasp  of  her  stomacher.  Her  young 
beauty,  her  commanding  carriage,  the  clear,  pene- 
trating sweetness  of  her  tones,  as  she  spoke  to  the 
officers  of  the  law,  seemed  to  produce  a  lull  in  the 
clamour  of  the  crowd.  They  ceased  hooting,  to 
gape  and  listen. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  247 

*  The   person   whom   you   say   that   you   have    a 
warrant  to   arrest,'   said  she,  quite  coolly,  '  was  in 
this  house,  but  has  now  left  it.     It  will  only  waste 
your  time  to  search  for  him.' 

*  You  must  inform  us  when  and  how  he  left  it.' 

'  Nay,  that  I  cannot,  as  I  do  not  know.  Maybe  he 
has  taken  refuge  in  Fulford's  Rents,  in  Holborn, 
where  debtors  and  criminals  are  said  to  be  safe.' 

'  He  would  have  been  seen  crossing  the  street.' 

'  Belike  he  knew  of  some  private  passage  thither.' 

'  Under  the  ground  ?' 

*  'Tis    probable    enough,'    Laurel    answered,   un- 
daunted. 

'  Fulford's  Rents!'  passed  from  lip  to  lip  through 
the  crowd.  The  narrow  court,  closed  by  a  gate  at 
one  end,  is  as  notorious  a  sanctuary  of  debtors, 
thieves,  and  all  who  would  fain  escape  the  eye  of 
justice  as  are  Whitefriars  and  the  Savoy ;  but 
whether  it  would  be  equally  safe  from  the  law  of  the 
mob  is  another  question. 

1  Why  should  you  suspect  us  of  hiding  this  man  ?' 
Laurel  continued.  '  My  father,  who  is  absent,  is  no 
malignant,  as  you  call  it.  The  man  is  as  hateful  to 
me  as  to  yonder  mob — but  for  other  reasons,  'tis  true. 
I  hate  him  because  he  misused  and  deserted  his  wife, 
and  hath  cruelly  injured  his  only  child.  I  hate  him 
for  his  base  cheating  and  lies.  But  you,  on  account 


248  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

of  these  things,  would  not  touch  him.  His  sin  in 
yours  and  those  maddened  people's  eyes  is  his 
religion.' 

My  heart  was  in  my  throat  as  I  leaned  anxiously 
over  the  casement  and  heard  her  speak  thus.  Surely, 
I  thought,  such  a  speech  as  her  last  would  excite  the 
suspicion  she  had  begun  by  allaying,  and  every 
moment  I  expected  to  see  the  constables  pass  her 
and  force  their  entry.  She  herself  told  me  afterwards 
she  had  never  any  hope  that  she  could  deter  them 
from  their  purpose,  and  had  only  talked  to  detain 
them  so  long  as  'twere  possible,  trusting  that  it  would 
give  time  for  the  fugitive  to  hap  on  the  spring  of  the 
secret  door  which  I  had  failed  to  find. 

Laurel's  surprise,  then,  was  as  great  as  mine  when 
suddenly,  with  a  roar  of  '  to  Fulford's  Rents,'  the 
crowd,  like  a  pack  of  hounds,  turned  tail  towards 
Holborn,  this  time  giving  the  constables  the  lead 
instead  of  taking  it  from  them. 

Would  they  come  back  ?  For  some  minutes 
Laurel  still  stood  in  her  proud  attitude  on  the  flag- 
stones, as  if  she  half  expected  they  would. 

'  Your  peril  is  averted  for  the  present,  sir,'  I  said, 
turning  from  the  window;  'your  pursuers  are  gone.' 

But  I  spoke  to  the  green  velvet  hangings.  There 
was  no  figure  grovelling  'twixt  the  bed-head  and 
the  panels ;  the  room  was  empty.  Whilst  I  had 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  249 

been  looking  out,  straining  my  ears  to  catch  Laurel's 
words,  the  spring  must  have  been  touched  by  hazard, 
the  door  have  sprung  back  and  closed  again  on 
Mr.  1'Estrange. 

That  night  Hugh  made  his  bundle,  and  left  us  for 
Master  Haynes'.  He  had  never  gone  from  the  Gray 
House  with  so  white  and  anguish-stricken  a  face, 
and  'twas  enough  to  make  other  hearts  than  Silence's 
bleed  to  look  on't.  He  took  his  usual  respectful 
farewell  of  me,  and,  though  he  did  not  say  so,  I 
understood  that  the  roof  of  his  benefactor  could  not 
shelter  him  and  his  father  withal  at  the  same  time. 

How  many  hours  it  sheltered  Mr.  1' Estrange  is 
not  known.  We  knocked  several  times  on  the  panels 
behind  the  bed  and  no  answer  came.  At  nightfall, 
as  still  neither  I  nor  Laurel  could  discover  how  to 
open  the  secret  door,  we  knocked  again,  and  placed 
meat,  bread,  and  wine  there. 

On  the  morrow  when  Gabriel  came  home  he  opened 
the  closet,  but  there  was  no  one  in  it,  and  Mr. 
1' Estrange  had  evidently  found  his  way  out  by  the 
staircase  that  leads  from  it  into  an  underground 
passage  skirting  the  garden  wall. 

He  had  left  a  piece  of  burnt  cork  and  a  letter  on 
the  little  table  beneath  the  hanging  lamp  in  the 
closet.  Writing  materials  must  have  been  concealed 


250  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

about  his  person,  otherwise  the  letter  could  not  have 
been  writ,  although  'twas  only  the  address,  'tis  true, 
that  was  in  his  handwriting — but  the  address  was 
long. 

'  For  that  intrepid,  fair  King's  woman,  Mistress 
Laurel  Young,  who  this  day,  realizing  that  a  fellow- 
Royalist  stood  in  danger  of  a  vile  death  at  the  hands 
of  a  fanatical  mob,  did  nobly  exert  herself  to  save 
him,  I  do  leave  behind  the  missives  herein  enclosed 
to  acquaint  .her  with  a  danger  that  threatened  herself, 
but  threatens  her  no  longer,  in  that  I  who  would 
have  been  the  chief  instrument  therein,  should  I  now 
succeed  in  making  my  escape  by  the  river,  withdraw 
beyond  seas  to  serve  again  in  the  army  of  the  Catholic 
Duke  of  Lorraine.' 

The  enclosures,  to  my  shame  and  grief,  were  in 
the  hand  of  my  brother  Roger.  They  gave  the  clue 
to  his  true  connection  with  the  so-called  Mr.  Taller, 
to  whom  he  had  lost  large  sums  of  money  at  cards 
and  betting  at  bowls.  To  pay  these  debts  he  was, 
by  Mr.  Taller's  aid,  to  carry  off  an  heiress  by  force 
and  stealth,  and  the  heiress  was  to  be  none  other 
than  Laurel,  whom,  if  he  could  not  win  by  fair 
means,  he  was  determined  to  get  by  foul.  And  as 
if  this  enormity  were  not  enough,  these  letters  of 
Roger's  contained  evidence  of  another  design  on  the 
part  of  his  confederate,  who,  having  satisfied  himself 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  251 

that  Hugh  was  the  son  he  had  abandoned  even  before 
his  birth,  and  having  observed  Silence's  passionate 
attachment  to  her  foster-brother,  would  have  plotted 
to  decoy  both  of  them  into  the  Fleet,  where,  perforce, 
he  had  at  times  to  take  up  his  abode,  and  there  get 
them  tied  in  wedlock  by  some  chaplain,  according 
to  a  custom  of  the  place. 

Thus  had  he  schemed  to  profit  eventually  by  the 
fortunes  of  both  Gabriel's  daughters,  and  would  not 
have  scrupled  outrageously  to  wrong  one  he  knew  to 
have  stood  in  the  place  of  a  father  to  his  own  son. 

I  should  be  too  shamed  to  write  of  my  brother's 
share  in  these  perfidious  plottings  and  underhand 
dealings,  now  come  to  light,  anywhere  but  in  the 
pages  of  this  dear  book,  which  ever  seems  to  invite 
my  confidence  when  once  I  open  it  again  after  long 
months  of  neglect. 

In  his  goodness,  my  husband,  to  soothe  my  sharp 
distress,  tried  to  find  excuses  for  Roger,  though  it 
was  indeed  difficult.  'Twas  clear,  he  said,  Roger 
had  but  writ  of  this  audacious  project,  and  had  taken 
no  steps  to  bring  it  to  pass,  for  all  the  while  he  had 
been  doing  his  duty  as  a  soldier,  and  had  fought 
bravely  in  the  King's  last  stand  at  Naseby.  Evil 
company  had  been  Roger's  bane,  and  doubtless  he 
had  been  led  on  by  the  spy  and  gamester,  into  whose 
power  he  had  fallen  through  losing  money  to  him  at 


252  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

cards,  to  talk  bigly  of  a  plan  which  the  obligations 
of  honour  and  affection  would  have  prevented  his 
putting  into  execution,  even  if  it  had  been  possible. 

'  Honour  and  affection !'  I  exclaimed  bitterly ;  '  I 
fear  he  has  neither,  but  hath  lost  both  at  cards,  like 
his  money.' 

But  Mr.  1'Estrange's  conduct  Gabriel  found  no 
palliation  for.  Never  have  I  seen  him  so  deeply 
stirred  to  wrathful  indignation  as  he  was  on  learning 
what  had  passed  in  his  absence,  and  that  Mr.  Taller 
had  duped  him,  and  proved  one  and  the  same  person 
as  Hugh's  father. 

'  And  base  scoundrels  of  this  type  still  flourish 
darkly  in  the  pay  and  service  of  the  King's  party,'  he 
said,  '  whilst  the  flower  of  England's  chivalry,  which 
graced  the  ranks  of  his  army  at  the  outset,  has  all 
been  swept  away.' 

'Not  all,  not  all!'  Laurel  cried.  'Thank  God,  I 
know  of  one — nay,  of  many,  for  that  matter — who 
have  yet  noble  lives  to  risk  above  board  and  in  the 
daylight  for  their  King.' 

When  Laurel  took  her  lute  (for  the  first  time  since 
that,  to  us,  eventful  January  day  on  which  Hugh 
had  departed  so  suddenly  and  sadly)  and  sat  on  the 
settle  to  tune  it  in  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  blazing 
hearth,  methought  she  had  in  her  memory  only  '  one,' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  253 

not  '  many,'  who  had  yet  a  noble  life  to  lay  down  ; 
for  the  lines  she  sang,  with  an  unwonted  dewiness  in 
her  brown  eyes  and  a  vibrating  sweet  pathos  in  her 
voice,  were  these,  writ  by  Colonel  Lovelace : 

'  Though  seas  and  lands  betwixt  us  both, 

Our  faith  and  troth, 
Like  separated  souls, 
All  time  and  space  controls  ; 
Above  the  highest  sphere  we  meet, 
Unseen,  unknown,  we  greet  as  angels  greet. 

'  So  then  we  do  anticipate 

Our  after  fate, 
And  are  alive,  in  the  skies, 
If  thus  our  lips  and  eyes 
Can  speak  like  spirits  unconfined, 
In  heaven,  their  earthly  bodies  left  behind.' 


XI 

CHANCERY  LANE, 

July  30,  1647. 

I  WAS  in  the  still-room  this  morning,  helping  my 
women  to  make  a  cordial  of  briar-rose  leaves,  when 
I  saw  Laurel  coming  over  the  daisied  grass  ot 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  in  the  golden  sunshine.  She 
came  so  quickly  that  Mr.  Fanshawe's  negro  man, 
who  was  her  attendant,  could  scarce  keep  pace  with 
her. 

The  Fanshawes  are  lodged  at  present  in  Portugal 
Row.  At  the  end  of  the  war,  when  Royalists 
poured  into  London  to  compound  for  their  estates 
with  a  committee  of  the  Parliament  sitting  for  that 
purpose  in  Goldsmiths'  Hall,  to  our  unspeakable 
delight  my  husband's  dear  kinswoman  did  journey 
hither  from  Caen  in  France,  to  compound  for  part 
of  her  fortune,  and  succeeded  in  getting  a  pass  for 
Mr.  Fanshawe  from  Colonel  Copley,  a  Parliament 
man.  We  have  enjoyed  much  of  their  society 
through  the  winter  and  spring,  though  when  Mr. 
[254] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  255 

Fanshawe  joined  Anne,  to  raise  money  for  returning 
to  His  Highness  the  Prince,  'twas  necessary  for  him 
to  live  very  privately,  as  he  does  still,  for  fear  of 
being  imprisoned  for  his  loyalty. 

Laurel  has  been  waiting  almost  daily  on  her  sweet 
mistress,  as  she  likes  to  call  Anne,  and  when  I  saw 
her  speeding  over  the  fields  so  early  to-day  I 
guessed  what  news  she  was  bringing. 

But,  of  course,  Laurel  asked  me  to  guess  what  the 
news  was  when  she  came  in  laughing,  and  tossed  off 
the  little  mask  she  had  worn  to  protect  her  face 
from  the  sun's  glare.  For  answer,  I  inquired 
whether  'twas  a  boy  or  a  girl. 

'  Why,  mother,'  she  exclaimed,  '  how  did  you 
know  it  was  either  ?  Well,  'tis  a  boy,  to  take  the 
place  of  the  little  first-born  son  who  was  buried  at 
Oxford  ere  he  was  out  of  his  chrisom  robe ;  and  my 
mistress  is  overjoyed  that  her  little  Nan  hath  a 
brother,  and  wishes  she  were  here  to  see  him, 
instead  of  in  Jersey,  at  nurse  with  my  Lady  Carteret. 
He  is  to  be  christened  Henry,  and  my  father  and 
you  are  to  be  gossips,  if  you  will  be  so  pleased, 
which  I  warrant  you  will.  They  say  that  the  babe 
hath  his  mother's  eyes,  his  father's  nose,  and  his 
grandfather's  chin,  and  is  the  image  of  his  uncle. 
But  'tis  ridiculous  to  say  new-born  infants  resemble 
anyone  except  each  other — in  truth,  they  are  all 


256  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

alike,  and  I  could  not  have  told  this  one  from  Olave, 
or  Olave  from  your  sister  Peg's  boy,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-four  hours.'  She  took  up  a  handful  of  the 
rose-leaves  which  lay  in  crimson  heaps  around  me, 
and  crumpled  them  in  her  palm.  '  I  would  fain  give 
a  helping  hand  to-day  at  the  rose-stillery,'  said  she, 
'  but  may  not  tarry  after  I  have  seen  Silence.  They 
expect  me  back  at  Portugal  Row  by  noon.' 

'  'Tis  unfortunate  you  cannot  stay  to  dinner,'  I 
said,  'for  your  father  has  invited  two  guests,  who, 
methinks,  come  expressly  to  see  you.' 

Laurel  knew  what  I  meant.  She  threw  down  the 
rose-petals,  and  took  up  a  bud,  which  she  began  to 
pluck  to  pieces  impatiently.  Some  of  the  crowd  of 
delinquents — so  called  by  the  rebels  who  flock  to 
London  just  now  to  compound  for  their  estates — are 
improving  the  occasion  by  heiress-hunting. 

*  Is  it  the  widower- knight,  Sir  Pompey  Staines, 
who  would  endow  me  with  four  strapping  step- 
daughters— even  a  worse  fate  than  yours,  sweet 
mother  ?'  she  inquired ;  '  or  the  obedient  young 
esquire  who  makes  a  leg,  and  woos  at  his  father's 
bidding  ?  or  that  woeful  pedant  who  turns  his 
compliments  in  Latin  ?  Or,  maybe,  'tis  that  clownish 
personage  with  the  gait  of  a  plough-boy,  for  all  his 
long  pedigree ;  or  that  spark  Sir  Guy,  whose  love- 
locks are  sticky  with  strong  perfume  ;  or Nay, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  257 

why  run  through  the  whole  galaxy  ?  "Tis  all  the 
same,  whether  it  be  all  or  none  of  these.  I  am  sick 
of  being  inspected  as  if  I  were  a  piece  of  china  or  a 
picture  on  view.  Once  I  scarce  knew  whether  I 
had  a  mind  to  be  wed  or  no.  But  now  'tis  different. 
I  am  confident  that  I  never  wish  to  wed  with  any. 
So  'tis  useless  for  my  father  to  consider  these 
people's  proposals  to  treat  for  me.  Why  must 
parents  be  so  anxious  to  dispose  of  their  daughters, 
I  wonder  ?' 

'  They  are  not  anxious  to  be  rid  of  them,'  I  made 
answer ;  '  but  the  more  they  prize  them,  the  more 
they  would  fain  confide  them  to  the  care  and 
protection  of  suitable  husbands,  for  'tis  natural 
for  every  woman,  whether  of  high  or  low  degree, 
to  marry,  unless  there  be  some  special  reason 
against  it.' 

'  Then  I  give  thee  leave,  mother  to  publish  that 
there  is  a  special  reason  against  it  in  my  case,' 
Laurel  declared,  laughing,  yet,  I  believe,  meaning, 
withal,  what  she  said.  '  I  pray  you  do  it  if  it  will 
spare  me  the  addresses  of  these  gentlemen,  old  and 
young,  who  pester  my  father  with  the  inventory  of 
their  sequestered  lands  and  moneys,  and  by  a  list  of 
their  ancestors,  their  good  looks,  and  virtues  at  the 
same  time.  I  have  been  so  barely  civil  to  them  of 
late  methinks  they  must  have  doubts  as  to  whether, 

17 


258  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

after  all,  I  should  grace  their  board  or  do  them  any 
credit  as  their  lady.' 

So  saying,  she  raised  her  long  skirts  and  danced 
down  the  passages,  singing  a  catch  as  she  went ; 
and  soon  she  held  Silence  in  her  arms,  caressing  her, 
as  she  is  wont  to  do  after  a  separation,  and  croon- 
ing those  soft  endearments  which  Silence  under- 
stands so  well  Irom  the  motions  of  her  sister's  lips. 

Laurel,  despite  her  childlike  candour  and  out- 
spokenness at  times,  does  not  wear  her  heart  on  her 
sleeve  for  daws  to  peck  at.  'Tis  still,  in  part,  a 
riddle  to  me,  that  warm  young  heart,  though 
methought  I  came  a  little  nearer  to  solving  it 
to-day  than  heretofore,  when  I  stood  watching 
Laurel  step  forth  into  the  dazzling  sunshine  again, 
wTith  her  ebony  attendant,  to  return  to  Portugal 
Row.  She  had  not  affixed  the  mask,  but  carried  it 
in  her  hand,  and  I  saw  her  face  change  as  a  figure, 
the  most  gallant  and  handsome  in  London  (for, 
wherever  it  may  be,  'tis  always  the  most  gallant  and 
handsome),  crossed  the  sunny  street. 

'Twas  Colonel  Lovelace,  who  had  left  England  to 
fight  in  the  French  wars  on  the  surrender  of  Oxford 
last  summer,  when  disaster  everywhere  befell  the 
shattered  remnant  of  the  King's  armies  and  drove 
them  from  the  field.  He  had  but  recently  come 
back  to  London,  and  was  meditating,  I  doubt  not, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  259 

how  he  might  once  more  draw  his  sword  from  the 
scabbard  in  some  daring  service  for  his  King,  now  a 
prisoner  of  the  Parliament  at  Holmby  House. 

He  was  attired,  according  to  his  wont,  in  all  the 
gauds  of  an  extreme  fashionable  Cavalier,  which  he 
wears  with  so  extraordinary  a  grace  that  he  never  doth 
look  gaudy.  Gay-coloured  plumes,  lace,  velvet,  and 
satin,  jewelled  buttons,  richly- embroidered  scarf  and 
flaunting  sash,  on  him  tone  into  an  unstudied  harmony 
subordinate  to  the  charm  and  beauty  of  his  person. 
Methinks  'tis  Colonel  Lovelace  becomes  his  fine 
clothes  rather  than  that  they  become  him. 

Only  few  words  has  Laurel  ever  exchanged  with  the 
soldier-poet.  Their  meetings  have  been  rare  and  brief 
since  the  first  chance  encounter  long  ago  on  Hamp- 
stead  heights.  Is  it,  perchance,  because  the  memory 
of  them  is  so  fondly  cherished  that  Laurel  said  to-day 
there  was  a  '  special  reason '  for  her  distaste  to  the 
thought  of  wedding  any  of  the  admirers  who  would 
fain  treat  for  her  ?  Her  proud  nature  would  disdain 
to  confess  it,  I  know.  She  respects  as  something 
sacred  the  poet's  faithful  passion  for  the  unknown 
Lucasta  of  his  lyrics,  and  would  not  dream,  even 
were  it  possible,  of  shaking  that  most  wondrous 
fidelity.  'Tis  like  her  to  rest  content  with  adoring 
in  the  inner  sanctuary  of  her  secret  soul  a  far-off 
hero,  whom  she  has  set  on  a  pedestal  therein,  not 

17 — 2 


260  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

hoping,  nor,  belike,  even  desiring,  that  he  should 
descend  from  his  pedestal  and  come  nearer  to  mingle 
with  the  ordinary  traffic  of  her  everyday  life. 

Yet  how  could  he — so  well  accustomed  to  read 
adoration  for  his  person  behind  women's  coquettish 
airs  and  graces  and  languishing  vapours — how  could 
he  mistake  the  language  of  those  candid  brown  eyes, 
shining  so  softly  as  they  met  his  gaze  ?  A  maiden's 
reserve  cannot  extend  to  her  eyes,  for  they  are  the 
windows  through  which  her  heart  peeps  out,  whether 
she  will  or  no,  at  certain  unguarded  moments.  Such 
a  moment  was  it  this  morning  when  Laurel  responded 
to  Colonel  Lovelace's  greeting  by  the  gateway.  Not 
a  line  of  her  erect,  stately  bearing  relaxed ;  her  head, 
held  high,  did  not  droop ;  but  her  eyes — shall  I  ever 
forget  the  look  in  her  eyes  ?  I  felt  guilty  that  I  had 
seen  it.  I  feel  guilty  now  whilst  I  write  of  it.  Stead- 
fast indeed  must  be  the  flame  that  can  be  thus  kept 
burning  by  such  scant  fuel  as  an  occasional  smile  and 
greeting. 

August  8. 

Although  there  is  peace,  men  feel  little  security  of 
its  being  lasting.  Distractions  still  continue,  the 
conquerors  being  so  sorely  divided  among  themselves. 
The  army  refused  to  be  disbanded  in  June,  and  defies 
the  Parliament ;  and  even  the  army  itself  is  torn  by 
factions,  the  party  called  Levellers  having  done  their 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  261 

best  to  stir  up  a  mutiny  within  it.  He  will  have  to 
be  a  bold  and  wary  man,  my  Sir  Oracle  says,  who 
attempts  a  settlement  'twixt  all  these  divers  and  con- 
tending forces. 

Tis  difficult  even  for  those  living  in  the  heart  of 
the  turmoil  to  follow  and  understand  the  fluctuations 
of  London's  varying  moods.  It  seems  but  a  short 
time  ago  that  the  citizens  shouted  with  one  voice  for 
liberty,  and  poured  out  their  money  and  treasure  to 
support  the  Parliament  and  defend  the  city,  and  sent 
forth  its  youths  by  thousands  to  give  their  blood  for 
the  cause,  the  triumph  of  which  they  held  to  be  so 
vital  for  the  country's  welfare.  Yet  now  that  it  has 
triumphed  seething  currents  of  restlessness  and 
jealous  discontent  are  at  work,  pulling  men  this  way 
and  that.  The  other  day,  when  shops  were  closed 
and  drums  beating  along  the  streets,  and  the  Militia 
were  called  out  again,  'twas  not  to  acclaim  the  great 
army  that  had  so  completely  vanquished  the  Royalists 
and  gained  the  day,  but  to  oppose  its  entry  with 
anger  and  defiance.  There  was  a  conspiracy  hatched 
in  private  by  the  citizens  and  prentices  to  turn  and 
rend  their  own  powerful  creation.  But  when  the 
army  approached  and,  perforce,  threatened  London — 
the  London  that  had  sent  it  forth  with  blessings  and 
tears  of  enthusiasm — active  hostility  died  and  gave 
place  to  sullen  acquiescence. 


262  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

The  potent,  conquering  army,  that  had  now  'added 
a  bloodless  victory  over  its  friends  to  the  many 
sanguinary  ones  it  had  scored  over  its  foes,  marched 
from  the  westward  through  London  to  the  Tower, 
and  Gabriel  and  I  looked  down  on  its  serried  ranks 
from  Master  Haynes'  latticed  bays  in  Cheapside ;  for 
it  chanced  that  the  dialler  had  invited  us  thither 
at  that  very  hour  to  hold  a  colloquy  about  Hugh 
1' Estrange. 

If  I  could  not  help  being  stirred  at  the  sight  of 
these  regiments  of  foot  and  horse  filing  by,  what 
must  Hugh  have  felt,  who  had  marched  with  them 
through  winter  rains  and  snow  and  summer  heat, 
and  fought  and  bivouacked  with  them  on  many  a 
blood-stained  field  ?  He  stood  below  on  the  flags 
with  the  other  prentices,  saluting  the  Generals  with 
his  maimed  hand  as  they  passed,  his  eyes  agleam, 
though  he  did  not  huzza  and  shout  with  the  rest  of 
the  spectators. 

No  Cavalier  ever  sat  his  horse  more  gracefully  than 
the  Lord  General  Fairfax,  or  wore  his  armour  with 
more  perfect  ease.  He  glanced  up  as  he  passed,  and  I 
saw  how  the  beauty  of  his  delicate  dark  face  had  been 
marred  by  sword  slashes.  Very  different,  thought  I, 
was  his  great  comrade  in  arms,  General  Cromwell, 
riding  at  the  head  of  his  Ironsides,  with  his  slouching 
shoulders,  mud-coloured  hair,  and  uncomely  features. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  263 

Yet  I  looked  at  him  with  awe,  for  Master  Haynes,  peer- 
ing through  his  large  spectacles  over  my  shoulder,  said : 

'  There  goes  the  man  of  greatest  power  and  force 
in  the  kingdom  at  this  hour.  He  holds  the  destiny 
of  King  and  people  in  his  hands.' 

The  destiny  of  the  King !  Alack !  who  can  say 
what  that  may  prove  to  be,  when  His  Majesty  is  a 
prisoner  of  the  army  which  hath  to-day  trampled 
down  all  opposition  and  ground  London  beneath  its 
iron  heel — the  army  to  which  the  King  himself  paid 
an  involuntary  compliment  when  Cornet  Joyce's 
troop  went  to  Holmby  House  to  seize  him. 

'  What  commission  have  I  ?'  said  the  Cornet. 
'  This ' — and  he  pointed  to  the  doughty  mounted 
soldiers  drawn  up  behind  him. 

'  As  fair  a  commission,'  replied  the  King,  '  as  ever 
I  saw.  Such  a  company  of  proper,  handsome  men 
as  I  Rave  not  seen  a  great  while.' 

A  true  enough  description,  methinks,  of  the  horse- 
men we  watched  curvetting  along  Cheapside  this 
forenoon.  Those  sons  of  Anak,  bronzed,  straight, 
and  muscular,  hardened  and  seasoned  by  skilled 
warfare  as  the  chargers  they  rid  on,  worthy  to  be 
compared  with  the  hardy  legions  that  were  the  glory 
of  old  Rome,  Gabriel  said.  And  when  the  last  were 
out  of  sight,  and  the  fierce  beams  of  the  sun  beat  on 
the  empty  street,  turning  the  dust  raised  by  the 


264  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

horses'  hoofs  to  clouds  of  brass,  Hugh  still  stood 
gazing  wistfully  at  the  turn  where  they  had  dis- 
appeared, his  fellow  prentices  having  run  back  again 
into  the  workshop. 

Master  Haynes  is  a  strange  mixture  of  superstition 
and  shrewdness.  After  he  had  talked  at  length  of 
the  mock  suns  which  had  made  their  appearance  in 
the  King's  horoscope  since  1644,  and  what  these 
augured,  he  struck  into  the  subject  of  Hugh's  future. 

It  seems  that,  among  all  his  workers,  Hugh  has 
the  highest  principle  of  honour,  the  clearest  mathe- 
matical head,  the  most  fertile  invention,  and  these 
are  the  qualities  Master  Haynes  would  wish  him  who 
succeeds  him  one  day  in  his  business  to  possess. 

'  With  his  guardian's  sanction,'  said  he,  '  I  am 
willing  to  betroth  him  to  my  daughter.  Ere  he 
went  to  the  wars,  to  excite  peaceful  emulation 
amongst  the  lads,  I  offered  a  prize  for  the  most 
ingenious  mathematical  toy,  dial,  clock,  compass, 
or  suchlike,  to  be  designed  and  fashioned  in  their 
private  hours.  He,  despite  a  wounded  arm  and 
injured  hand,  has  constructed  something  that  I  hold 
to  be  a  wonder  of  skill  and  ingenuity.  'Tis  not  only 
clock  and  dial  combined,  but  musical  instrument  as 
well.  Most  unquestionably  he,  and  he  alone,  is 
deserving  of  the  prize,  and  I  shall  have  rare  pleasure 
in  awarding  him,  in  due  time,  his  guerdon,  my 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  265 

pretty,  pious  daughter — that  is  to  say,  not  without 
your  consents,  dear  sir  and  madam.' 

I  remembered  how,  when  Hugh  had  first  made 
mention  to  us  of  the  prize  offered  by  Master  Haynes, 
Laurel  had  asked  jestingly  if  it  were  to  be  Mistress 
Margaret.  Little  had  she  thought  there  was  aught 
prophetic  in  her  jest. 

'Twas  but  a  formality  for  Master  Haynes  to  say 
he  wanted  my  consent.  If  Gabriel's  was  forth- 
coming, it  would  matter  little  whether  or  no  I  gave 
mine.  Yet  surely  I  was  acquainted  with  a  reason 
why  the  plan  Master  Haynes  unfolded  so  graciously 
could  not  be  for  Hugh's  happiness. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  Master  Haynes'  mind  that 
his  proposition  would  be  received  with  favour.  He 
went  on  to  say  that  he  had  laid  it  before  Hugh's 
kinsfolk  on  his  mother's  side,  who  were  ready  to 
forget  and  forgive  at  last  the  marriage  which  had 
bee,n  so  distasteful  to  them,  and  to  take  Hugh  to 
their  bosom  if  he  became  affianced  to  Mistress 
Margaret  Haynes. 

On  hearing  this,  Gabriel,  seeming  much  relieved 
and  overjoyed,  at  once  expressed  his  warm  approval, 
and  thanked  the  dialler  for  having  proved  so  ex- 
cellent a  friend  as  well  as  master  to  his  foster-son. 

Then  I  felt  I  must  speak. 

'  You  will  not  decide  this,'  said  I,  '  without  being 


266  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

certain  that  they  love  each  other  well  enough 
to  wed?' 

'  No  one  could  see  them  together  and  not  take 
them  for  sweethearts,'  Gabriel  answered. 

Only  twice  had  he  seen  Hugh  in  Mistress 
Margaret's  company :  first,  on  the  day  at  the 
beginning  of  the  war  when  they  had  stood  side  by 
side  in  the  crowd  gathered  in  front  of  the  Guildhall 
to  listen  to  the  Puritan  Lord  Brooke's  fervid 
eloquence ;  and  a  second  time  on  that  summer 
evening  when  we  had  chanced  to  come  on  them 
after  their  toiling  at  the  fortifications.  In  such 
moments  of  high  enthusiasm  and  urgency  those  who 
were  of  a  like  mind  were  drawn  so  closely  to  one 
another  by  the  bond  of  their  patriotic  inclinations 
that  they  might  easily  be  mistaken  for  lovers  when 
they  were  nothing  of  the  kind. 

I  knew  not  how  to  explain  this,  so  I  said, 
speaking  somewhat  bluntly  in  my  eagerness : 

'  Hugh  respects  and  admires  Mistress  Margaret — 
and  well  he  may !  But  his  affections  are,  or  were, 
set  on  another.' 

For  the  first  time  since  I  married  him  my 
husband  turned  on  me  a  stern  and  nigh  angry  look. 

'  Another  ?     Whom  can  you  mean  ?' 

'  Your  daughter  Laurel,'  I  answered. 

'Twas  bold  to  say  it,  for  Laurel's  price  to  Gabriel 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  267 

is  above  rubies,  and  though  he  is  anxious  she  should 
be  happily  wed  and  settled,  especially  since  my 
brother  Roger's  scandalous  schemings  came  to  light, 
he  deems  none  who  have  entered  the  lists  worthy  to 
win  her. 

'  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  the  youth's 
modesty  and  gratitude,'  said  he,  'to  credit  that  he 
would  repay  me  for  having  bred  him  up  as  the 
brother  of  my  children  by  presuming  to  think  of 
either  as  aught  but  his  foster-sister.' 

Nor  had  my  words  shaken  Master  Haynes  in  his 
belief  that  Hugh,  like  every  other  young  man  who 
came  under  his  roof,  must  prefer  pretty  Mistress 
Margaret  to  all  other  maidens. 

'  See,  we  may  take  this  as  a  proof,'  said  he, 
drawing  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  portfolio.  '  Hereon 
are  two  mottoes.  One  is  the  favourite  of  Mistress 
Laurel,  and  in  her  handwriting.  The  other  is  writ 
by  -my  daughter,  and  is  from  the  Scriptures.  'Twixt 
the  two  Master  Hugh's  choice  wavered,  but  which 
do  you  think  stands  at  last  graven  on  his  ingenious 
piece  of  work  ?  Not  "  Le  temps  s'en  va,  le  temps 
s'en  va.  H6las;  le  temps,  non,  mais  nous  en  aliens," 
madam,  but  "  The  darkness  and  the  light  are  both 
alike  to  Thee."  ' 

Whether  'twas  proof  or  not,  I  said  no  more,  for  I 
could  not  betray  Hugh's  confidence,  and  it  may  be 


268  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

that  Hugh,  after  all,  has  learnt  the  expediency  of 
following  the  old  London  fashion,  common  enough, 
which  is  that  the  most  skilled  and  trusty  apprentice 
should  woo  his  master's  daughter,  and  succeed  him 
at  his  death.  Yet,  methinks,  I  would  rather  he  had 
been  faithful,  even  in  vain,  than  prudent. 

Laurel  is  like  to  resent  the  betrothal  should  it 
come  to  pass,  of  Hugh  and  Mistress  Margaret,  I 
fear,  for  Silence's  sake.  Only  the  other  day  she  said 
playfully  that  when  Hugh  and  Silence  were  wed  she 
should  like  them  to  live  in  the  little  house  in 
Holborn,  next  to  the  one  Mr.  Milton  has  lately 
come  to  from  the  Barbican  with  his  fair  wife,  with 
whom  he  has  long  since  become  reconciled. 

October  2. 

On  August  24  the  King  was  brought,  a  prisoner 
of  the  army,  to  his  fair  palace  of  Hampton  Court, 
where,  in  his  father's  time,  he  took  part  in  so  many 
splendid  pageants  and  state  entertainments,  and 
where,  later  in  his  own  reign,  he  hath  passed  days 
of  happy,  innocent  diversion  with  his  Queen  and 
children. 

His  Majesty's  manner  of  life  has  been  freer  and 
pleasanter  here  than  when  he  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  Scots,  and  afterwards  of  the  Parliament.  He  is 
now  more  of  a  guarded  and  attended  Prince  than  a 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  269 

conquered  and  purchased  captive.  The  chiefs  of 
the  army  show  him  courteous  respect,  and  have 
permitted  his  intimate  and  faithful  followers,  Lord 
Ashburnham  and  Sir  John  Berkeley,  to  return  from 
beyond  seas  to  be  about  his  person.  He  enjoys — 
what  was  denied  him  at  Holmby  House — the  con- 
solation of  his  own  spiritual  advisers,  instead  of 
being  preached  at  by  Roundhead  ranters,  and  his 
children,  the  sweet  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  the 
young  Dukes  of  York  and  Gloucester,  come  from 
Syon  House  to  visit  him. 

The  King  dines  publicly  in  state,  and  any  gentle- 
men who  wish  are  admitted  afterwards  to  kiss  his 
hand  in  the  Presence  Chamber.  All  his  old  servants 
and  Cavaliers  who  served  him  in  the  wars  have  free 
access  to  His  Majesty,  and  Mr.  Fanshawe  has  been 
much  with  him,  Anne  having  borne  her  husband 
company  twice  to  pay  her  respects  to  the  King,  she 
being  daughter  and  wife  of  two  of  His  Majesty's 
most  loyal  and  devoted  servants. 

'Tis  little  to  be  wondered  at  that  those  who  have 
ever  been  attached  to  the  King's  service  should  take 
advantage  of  this  opportunity  of  flocking  to  Hampton 
Court ;  but  what  seems  strange  is  that  the  river 
should  be  crowded  daily  with  barges  and  wherries 
bearing  freights  of  the  citizens  thither.  Belike  this 
marks  the  slow  turning  of  the  tide,  the  beginning  of 


270  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

the  reaction,  which  my  Sir  Oracle  foretold  on  our 
wedding-day,  when  the  city  streets  were  lined  with 
lowering  faces,  and  no  one  smiled  or  called  '  Huzza  !' 
as  the  King  came  forth  from  the  Guildhall  to  his 
coach.  That  was  the  King's  last  appearance  in  the 
City,  and  as  I  look  back  to  that  day  across  the 
years  of  my  married  life,  extraordinary  seem  the 
public  changes  and  events  that  have  been  crowded 
into  them,  and  there  pass  before  me  like  a  procession 
the  divers  men  of  mark,  and  the  young  lives  of 
promise  that  within  that  time  have  either  ended  in 
their  beds,  from  natural  distempers,  or  met  a  violent 
and  bloody  end  on  the  scaffold  and  the  battlefield. 

A  fortnight  or  more  ago  we  took  Olave  to  see  the 
harvest  carried  in  the  meadows  round  the  Grange  at 
Kingston,  and  then  heard  much  of  how  the  Royal 
prisoner  passes  his  time.  He  plays  tennis  and 
hunts,  and  our  kinswoman  at  the  Grange  has  met 
His  Majesty  in  the  park,  reading  as  he  walked  to 
the  gentleman  attending  him,  from  some  theological 
book.  One  day  lately  he  rid  as  far  as  the  Grange, 
and  drew  rein  and  dismounted  to  watch  a  while  the 
harvesters  at  their  toil.  But  he  had  soon  looked 
beyond  them,  over  the  waving  gold  of  the  corn,  to 
the  blue  line  of  Surrey  hills,  with  pensive,  melan- 
choly eyes. 

'  Would  that  he'd  come  again  to-day,'  Laurel  had 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  271 

said,  '  to  see  the  wenches  and  lads  at  their  harvest 
junketings.  Our  little  Viking  should  go  on  his  knees 
and  pay  him  homage/ 

But  the  King  did  not  come,  and  Laurel  must  needs 
be  satisfied  with  having  the  spot  pointed  out  where 
the  King  had  rested.  She  went  to  it,  leading  Olave 
by  the  hand,  and  told  him  that  this  was  the  ground 
his  King  had  stood  on,  and  those  the  fields  and  hills 
his  eyes  had  contemplated  but  a  few  days  ago. 

Olave  gazed  solemnly,  first  at  the  ground,  then  at 
the  distant  blue  hills,  melting  into  the  deeper  blue  of 
the  sky,  and  lastly  into  Laurel's  face.  Then  the  bag- 
pipes struck  up  in  the  barn,  and  his  gravity  gave 
way.  The  weird  strains  of  the  bagpipe  were  new  to 
his  ears,  my  little  son  having  lived  his  short  life  alto- 
gether under  the  Puritan  regime,  which  has  banished 
musicians,  puppet-shows,  and  mountebanks  from  the 
London  streets,  and  has  made  it  a  penal  offence  to 
sing,  dance,  or  even  laugh  in  them.  He  began  a- 
capering  and  clapping  of  his  hands,  and  shouted 
'  God  save  the  King !'  so  lustily  that  I  looked  round 
in  alarm  lest  any  of  the  guards  from  the  army's  head- 
quarters at  Putney  should  be  patrolling  the  lanes  and 
hear  him. 

Before  going  back  to  London,  we  took  barge  and 
drifted  up  the  river  till  the  lights  beneath  the  silver 
globe  of  the  full  moon  twinkled  at  us  from  the  long 


272  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

front  of  Cardinal  Wolsey's  palace.  We  saw  figures 
pass  and  repass  the  windows,  and  heard  the  neighing 
and  champing  of  war-horses  in  the  paved  stable-yard. 

'  To-night  the  King  is  entertaining  his  captors, 
the  Generals  Cromwell,  Ireton,  and  Whalley,  with 
their  wives,'  Gabriel  said.  '  His  Majesty  is,  I'll 
warrant,  all  graciousness  to  homely  Mistress  Crom- 
well, who  'twas  his  express  desire  should  be  pre- 
sented to  him.  The  austere  Roundhead  soldiery, 
'tis  said,  is  thawing  fast  in  the  sunshine  of  royal 
smiles.' 

'  Methinks  General  Cromwell  is  only  hiding  some 
dark  design,'  Laurel  said,  '  beneath  this  seeming 
friendliness  and  consideration  towards  the  King.' 

'  And  others  think  that  the  King  is  not  sincere  in 
his  ready  acceptance  thereof,'  my  husband  answered  : 
'  that  he  would  play  one  party  off  against  the  other, 
for  'tis  on  the  widening  of  the  breach  'twixt  Presby- 
terians and  Independents  that  he  now  builds  high 
hopes  of  regaining  his  crown.' 

'  The  King  still  wears  his  crown  by  right  Divine. 
The  rebels,  whatever  they  choose  to  call  themselves, 
Puritans,  Independents,  Republicans,  or  Levellers, 
cannot  give  him  back  what  they  haven't  the  power 
to  take  away,'  Laurel  said  hotly,  as  strong  in  her 
faith  in  the  Divine  right  of  monarchs  as  the  King 
himself. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  273 

Olave's  head  was  pillowed  on  my  lap,  and  I  had 
thought  he  slept,  but  now  he  opened  his  drowsy 
blue  eyes,  and  again  looking  at  Laurel,  he  exclaimed  : 
'  God  save  the  King  !' 

This  evening  our  dear  cousins  and  friends  the 
Fanshawes  came  from  Portugal  Row  to  sup  with  us. 
They  start  to-morrow  for  Portsmouth  to  take  ship 
for  France. 

Whilst  Sir  Oracle  and  Mr.  Fanshawe  were  in  the 
study  comparing  their  translations  of  an  Ode  of 
Horace,  which  they  both  deem  to  be  untranslatable, 
yet  cannot  forbear  to  attempt,  Anne  came  upstairs 
with  me  to  my  carnation  closet.  She  took  up  this 
book,  which  lay,  in  company  with  Master  Crashaw's 
and  Master  Vaughan's  Poems  and  holy  Bishop 
Andrewes'  '  Devotions,'  on  the  bureau,  and  turning 
over  the  blank  pages  she  counted  them,  and  chid  me 
for  writing  in  my  journal  with  so  little  regularity. 

'  'Tis  gradually  becoming  an  annual  rather  than  a 
journal,'  she  said. 

'  But  I  have  had  no  travels  and  adventures  such  as 
yours  when  you  were  plundered  and  near  cast  away 
on  the  islands  of  Scilly,'  said  I.  '  We  stay-at-homes 
lead  less  romantic  lives.  Would  you  have  me  write  of 
each  time  I  go  out  to  pull  herbs,  or  to  the  Exchange 
to  choose  a  riband,  or  keep  count  of  every  brew  of 
herb  tea,  cowslip  wine,  and  rose  cordial,  and  of  all 

18 


274        AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

the  pickled  cloves  and  flummery  caudles  the  still-room 
maids  make  or  mar  ?  I  never  meant  my  journal  to 
be  a  book  of  recipes  and  prosy  household  matters.' 

'  Neither  can  you  have  meant  it  to  be  a  family 
chronicle,'  she  replied,  '  else  you  certainly  would 
have  recorded  on  some  of  these  blank  pages,  under 
1645  and  1646,  your  father,  dear  Master  Howard's 
marriage  with  Mistress  Travers,  and  pretty  Prue's.' 

At  the  time  they  happened  both  these  events  had 
caused  me  some  pain,  though  'twas  nothing  compared 
with  my  distress  at  the  disclosure  of  Roger's  perfidy. 
Now  I  can  but  admit  that  my  father's  second 
marriage  has  been  for  the  best.  His  wife's  fortune, 
if  not  large,  is  comfortable,  and  her  influence  with 
the  Aldermen  and  City  folks  has  helped  to  procure 
my  father  a  post  as  teacher  of  singing  at  Gresham 
College.  Madam  has  not  conquered,  'tis  true,  Jane's 
obstinate  aversion  to  a  stepmother,  and  Prue  declares 
'tis  because  home  was  so  different  and  she  was  no 
longer  wanted  there  that  she  made  her  runaway  match 
with  a  nigh  penniless  pupil,  who  long  ago  fell  in  love 
with  Prue's  performance  of  Dr.  Bull's  famous  fantasy 
for  the  harpsicon,  with  thirty  variations  so  intricate 
that  even  Prue's  skilled  little  fingers  could  never 
master  more  than  twenty-four  of  them.  Having  in- 
curred her  stepmother's  high  displeasure  by  such  a 
foolish  marriage,  Prue  and  her  husband  found  them- 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  275 

selves  soon  afterwards  in  debt  and  in  the  Fleet, 
and,  methinks,  had  Gabriel  not  been  willing  and 
able  to  help  them  out,  they  would  be  there  at  this 
moment. 

Anne,  fearing  she  had  offended  me  by  referring  to 
unpleasant  subjects,  put  my  day-book  back  again  in 
its  place  by  Master  Vaughan,  and  then  drew  me 
down  beside  her  on  the  hearth,  holding  my  hands 
affectionately  in  hers. 

'  Dear  Lovejoy,  I  understand,'  said  she.  '  'Tis  not 
tittle-tattle,  but  of  history  and  fine  things  you  would 
fain  write  in  your  book  when  the  spirit  moves  you, 
and  if  the  spirit  doesn't  move  you,  you  would  rather 
leave  it  alone.  Dick  is  the  same.  He  can  only 
write  fluently  when  he  is  inspired  withal.  Do  you 
know  the  King  has  read  his  "  Pastor  Fido,"  and 
thinks  Sir  John  Denham's  prefatory  lines  of  praise 
richly  deserved  ?  We  took  our  farewells  of  His 
Majesty  yesterday  at  Hampton  Court.  Let  me  tell 
you  about  that  most  pathetical  scene,  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  moved  to  write  it  ere  you  lay  yourself 
abed.  I,  for  my  part,  shall  wait  to  write  the  story 
of  my  life  till  I  am  an  old  woman,  and  then,  belike, 
I  shall  ask  the  loan  of  your  day-book,  Lovejoy,  to 
freshen  my  memory,  though,  methinks,  much  is 
already  engraven  thereon  so  clearly  that  it  can 
never  fade.' 

18— 2 


276  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

An  old  woman !  Could  she  ever  grow  old,  this 
winsome,  fair  creature,  to  whose  lively,  girlish  spirits 
wifehood  and  maternity  had  but  added  a  new  and 
softening  charm  ? 

'  The  King  is  more  strictly  guarded  than  he  has 
been,'  she  continued,  '  His  Majesty  having  seen  fit  to 
withdraw  his  parole  to  the  Generals.  We  were  with 
him  near  an  hour  in  the  room  called  Paradise,  and  he 
talked  much  to  us  of  his  concerns,  and  was  pleased 
to  give  my  husband  credentials  for  Spain,  with 
private  instructions.  When  it  came  to  parting, 
I  could  not  refrain  from  weeping,  as  he  saluted  me. 
I  prayed  to  God  to  preserve  his  Majesty  with  long 
life  and  happy  years.  He  stroked  me  on  the  cheek, 
and  said  :  "  Child,  if  God  pleaseth,  it  shall  be  so  ;  but 
both  you  and  I  must  submit  to  God's  will,  and  you 
know  in  what  hands  I  am."  Then  he  turned  to  my 
husband,  and  said  :  "  Be  sure,  Dick,  to  tell  my  son  all 
that  I  have  said,  and  deliver  those  letters  to  my  wife 
Pray  God  bless  her  !  I  hope  I  shall  do  well."  And, 
taking  Dick  in  his  arms,  he  did  add :  "  Thou  hast 
ever  been  an  honest  man,  and  I  hope  God  will  bless 
thee,  and  make  thee  a  happy  servant  to  my  son, 
whom  I  have  charged  in  my  letter  to  continue  his 
love  and  trust  to  you."  '' 

The  tears  which  had  been  gathering  fast  in  her 
round,    childlike   eyes   rained  down,   and  her  voice 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  277 

was  choked.  I  have  many  visions  of  my  dear  girl- 
hood's friend  limned  on  my  mind  since  the  earliest, 
when  I  saw  her  for  the  first  time,  a  restless,  small  elf 
of  a  maid,  taking  her  lesson  from  my  father  on  the 
virginals  in  Hart  Street.  But  should  we  never 
meet  again,  I  shall  see  her  oftenest,  methinks,  as  she 
looked  to-night,  sitting  beside  me  in  the  firelight, 
recounting,  with  streaming  eyes,  how  she  and  her 
husband  had  taken  their  farewells  of  the  King,  and 
how  he  had  promised  that  if  ever  he  were  '  restored 
to  his  dignity  '  he  would  '  bountifully  reward  them 
both  for  their  service  and  sufferings.' 

After  a  silence  only  broken  by  the  soft  moaning 
of  the  October  wind  in  the  chimney,  Anne  said : 

'  But  Laurel  could  have  told  you  all  this  when  she 
comes  back  to  you  to-morrow.  I  let  her  attend  me 
into  the  King's  presence  yesterday  on  her  earnestly 
petitioning  it.  Beautiful,  loyal  Laurel  !  I  shall 
miss  my  nightingale,  and  will  not  pretend  that  your 
sharp-witted  Jane  can  fill  her  place,  glad  as  I  am  to 
have  her,  dear  little  soul !' 

Jane,  to  her  great  joy,  hath  gained  her  ambition, 
and  is  to  escape  from  her  stepmother's  government 
and  serve  for  a  time  Mistress  Fanshawe.  She  is  to 
go  with  them  to  Paris,  as  young  waiting-gentle- 
woman, a  post  Laurel  has  filled  for  love  during  her 
mistress's  sojourn  in  London. 


278  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

November  12. 

All  the  town  is  talking  of  the  King's  flight  at  dusk 
last  night  from  Hampton  Court.  He  was  thought 
to  be  writing  letters  in  his  bedchamber,  but  when 
his  keeper,  General  Whalley,  went  in,  he  found  it 
empty.  The  King  had  left  his  cloak  on  the  floor, 
and,  with  Colonel  Legge,  was  gone  by  private 
passage  to  the  riverside.  They  crossed,  and,  taking 
horse,  rid  away  in  the  storm  and  darkness  toward 
Oatlands. 

In  Mr.  Peter  Lely's  studio  at  his  new  house  in 
Covent  Garden  we  have  seen  to-day  the  portrait  for 
which  His  Majesty  lately  sat  whilst  he  was  at 
Hampton  Court.  Even  the  hand  of  his  own  dear 
painter,  Sir  Anthony  Van  Dyck,  can  never  have 
portrayed  the  King's  features  with  a  more  incom- 
parable skill.  'Tis  wondrous  fine,  full  of  a  most 
noble  dignity  and  repose.  The  natural  melancholy 
of  his  countenance  has  deepened — as  well  it  may, 
after  all  the  tossings,  tumults,  and  reverses  of  these 
distressful  years.  Not  a  King  of  pomp  and  state, 
but  a  King  of  sorrows,  is  the  King  of  Mr.  Lely's 
portrait.  In  it  he  wears  a  Spanish  hat  and  a  long, 
heavy  cloak — maybe  the  very  same  that,  before  his 
flight,  he  left  on  the  floor  of  his  bedchamber  as  a 
legacy  to  his  captors. 

The  artist  told  us  that  his  friend,  Colonel  Love- 


.4 W  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  279 

lace,  had  this  very  morning  stood  before  the  picture 
of  his  King  for  a  long  time  entranced,  and  then  taken 
pen  and  paper  and  composed  some  lines  on  it. 

'  And,  to  my  taste,  our  fair  poet  has  never  writ 
aught  so  good,'  Mr.  Lely  said. 

'  There  was  another  portrait  here  a  short  time 
ago,'  he  added,  smiling  at  Laurel,  '  which,  though 
very  different,  seemed  equally  to  enchain  his  fancy. 
'Twas  of  a  certain  comely  young  shepherdess, 
holding  a  nosegay.  You  are  likely  to  know  better 
than  I  if  she,  too,  inspired  his  Muse.' 

Without  looking  to  see,  I  was  sure  Laurel  lifted 
her  muff  to  hide  the  glowing  blush  which  mantles  in 
her  cheek  at  the  mention  of  only  one  name. 


XII 

THE  GRANGE, 

KINGSTON-ON-THAMES, 

July,  1648. 

I  BROUGHT  Silence  here,  where  we  have  lain  since 
June,  in  hope  that  the  pure  country  air  and  breezes 
from  the  river  would  revive  her.  But  the  hope  has 
proved  vain.  Silence  is  fading  away,  and  too  weak 
to  rise  from  the  little  white  bed,  where  she  lies  all 
day  with  her  great  starlike  eyes  gazing  out  through 
the  open  casement  at  the  swaying  tree-tops  and  the 
pale-blue  hills. 

Laurel  and  I  and  old  Miriam  Fisher  keep  watch 
by  her  in  turns,  though  'tis  difficult  to  tear  Laurel 
from  her  darling,  even  to  take  an  airing  in  the  garden. 

This  profound  lethargy  came  on  Silence  in  April, 
after  a  terrible  excitement,  one  of  her  old  frenzies  of 
passionate  jealousy.  'Twas  Master  Haynes  who  was 
the  unwitting  cause  of  it  when  he  sent  an  invitation 
to  Gabriel  and  me  to  bring  Hugh's  foster-sisters  to 
a  feast  at  his  house.  Silence  was  charmed  to  go, 
[280] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  281 

because  the  festivity  was  to  be  in  honour  of  Hugh's 
invention,  and  his  wonderful  dial  clock  was  to  be 
exhibited  to  the  guests.  She  was  in  joyous  anticipa- 
tion of  seeing  Hugh  step  out  from  the  ranks  of  his 
fellow-apprentices,  the  hero  of  the  day,  to  receive  his 
prize,  having  no  suspicion,  as  I  had,  of  what  that 
prize  might  be. 

But  'twas  not  till  we  came  into  the  parlour  at  the 
sign  of  the  Tortoise  that  it  dawned  on  me  Master 
Haynes  had  intended  to  surprise  everybody  by  making 
this  the  occasion  of  his  daughter's  betrothal  to  Hugh 
1'Estrange. 

Soft  lights  shone  from  sconces  on  the  brown  panels, 
fresh  spring  flowers  and  green  boughs  decked  the 
chimney,  and  the  big  round  table  was  spread  with 
snowy  napery,  a  Dutch  porcelain  service,  cut-glass 
rummers,  and  pewter  dishes,  on  which  were  many 
substantial  meats  and  dainty  confections.  The  guests 
assembled  before  we  arrived  were  triumphantly  pre- 
sented to  us  by  our  host  as  Hugh's  maternal  grand- 
parents, uncles,  and  aunts.  For  the  most  part  they 
were  severe,  stiff-mannered  persons,  who  had  only 
formal,  graceless  words  of  thanks  to  give  Gabriel  for 
having  bred  up  Hugh  with  his  own  children,  they 
clearly  preferring  to  regard  their  kinsman,  Master 
Haynes,  as  his  chief  benefactor. 

Being    bigoted    Republicans,    they    were    much 


282  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

incensed  at  having  had  their  coach  surrounded  as  they 
drove  from  the  country  into  London,  by  a  body  of  the 
City  Militia,  who  shouted  at  them  to  drink  the  King's 
health  ;  for  in  April  all  London's  latent  loyalty  was 
near  to  being  roused  anew  by  the  vote  which  the 
Parliament  had  passed  against  making  any  further 
attempts  to  treat  with  the  King.  The  Sunday  before 
that  evening  at  Master  Haynes's  some  prentices 
who  had  been  playing  at  bowls  in  Moorfields  drove 
off  the  soldiers  who  tried  to  stop  their  game,  pursued 
them  through  Moorgate,  and  then  marched  through 
the  City,  raising  the  cry  of  '  God  and  King  Charles  !' 
Thousands  of  sympathizers  joined  them  on  the  way, 
among  them  my  brother  Tim.  Sir  Oracle  says  the 
changes  in  Tim's  politics  show  pretty  accurately 
which  way  the  wind  is  blowing  in  London  town. 

Master  Haynes's  Puritan  guests  could  talk  of  little 
else  but  this  outrage  of  being  asked  to  drink  the 
King's  health  in  the  public  street,  till  the  dishes  were 
cleared  and  their  host  invited  them  to  drink  in 
Rhenish  wine  the  health  of  his  daughter  Margaret 
and  of  their  young  kinsman  Hugh  1'Estrange. 

I  remarked  that  Mistress  Margaret,  who  was  doing 
the  honours  of  her  father's  table  in  her  demure  and 
modest  fashion,  started  and  turned  rosy  red  at  hers 
and  Hugh's  name  being  thus  coupled  together.  Hugh 
was  not  present,  but  his  wondrous  ingenious  piece 


- 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  283 

of  work  was  being  passed  round  the  table  for  critical 
admiration.  It  had  not  come  to  Silence's  turn  to 
examine  it,  but  she  was  watching  intently  the  faces 
around  her  to  read  their  opinion.  She  noticed  that 
everyone  who  took  the  dial  in  his  hand  bent  over  it  in 
a  listening  attitude  with  exclamations  of  delight  and 
astonishment,  and  so  she  learned  for  the  first  time 
that  Hugh's  invention  produced  some  kind  of  music — 
music  for  which,  though  no  Puritan,  she  felt  a  strange, 
jealous  hatred,  because  she  could  not  hear  it.  The 
colour  flamed  up  in  her  pale,  transparent  cheek,  her 
eyes  dilated,  and  she  clenched  her  hands. 

The  old  dialler,  beaming  benignantly  through  his 
spectacles,  called  his  daughter  to  come  and  stand 
beside  his  high-backed,  carven  chair.  Mistress 
Margaret  obeyed  with  downcast  lashes  and  a 
hesitating  step,  whilst  her  father  commanded  a 
servant  to  summon  Master  1' Estrange  from  the 
workshop. 

Hugh,  as  he  entered  the  room,  bowed  to  the  whole 
company,  but  methought  his  eyes  leapt  instantly  to 
Laurel,  as  if  he  saw  no  one  but  her.  It  happened 
that  at  that  moment  the  dial  had  been  handed  to 
Laurel,  and  her  head  was  bent  over  it,  her  red  lips 
parted  in  wonder  at  its  minute  and  ingenious  work- 
manship. 

'  Come  forward,  Hugh  1'Estrange,'  Master  Haynes 


284  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGA  Y 

said  ;  '  you  have  long  known  that  'tis  a  mathematical 
toy  of  your  fashioning  which  hath  gained  the  prize, 
but  I  have  refrained  from  awarding  it  till  a  ripe  and 
favourable  opportunity  offered  itself.  I  hold  this  to 
be  such  an  opportunity,  inasmuch  as  your  mother's 
kindred  have  assembled  here  at  my  table  to  assure 
you  that  the  past  is  forgot,  and  that  bygones  shall 
be  bygones.  In  their  presence,  and  in  that  of  the 
scholarly  and  generous  gentleman,  your  guardian, 
who  bound  you  apprentice  to  me,  and  who  has 
honoured  me  by  sitting  at  my  board  to-day  with  his 
lady  and  fair  daughters,  I  do  bestow  on  you  my 
daughter's  hand.' 

The  little  figure  in  dove-colour  beside  his  chair 
shrank  away,  and  Hugh  did  not  advance. 

*  Tut,  tut !'  exclaimed  Master  Haynes  ;  '  why  so 
shy  ?  Is  the  hand  that  is  recovered  enough  of  its 
hurts  to  do  such  clever  work  not  able  to  grasp  these 
small  white  fingers  ?' 

Hugh  appeared  like  one  stunned  or  in  a  dream. 
In  truth,  'twas  a  moment  for  him  that  required 
courage — a  higher  courage,  maybe,  than  it  had 
needed  to  stand  amidst  the  cannon's  roar  and  the 
clash  of  steel  on  Newbury  plain,  or  to  rush  into  the 
thick  of  Naseby's  bloody  fight. 

How  could  he  refuse  this  supreme  favour  from  his 
revered  master  ?  How  seem  to  act  so  churlishly  to 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  285 

the  pretty  Puritan  maiden  as  to  decline  to  take  her 
hand  ?  Yet  how  could  he  accept,  I  asked  myself,  in 
the  sight  of  one  he  loved  and  of  another  who  loved 
him  ? 

Master  Haynes,  for  all  his  shrewdness,  methought 
had  been  blind,  and  in  not  preparing  them  before- 
hand had  placed  the  two  he  would  have  brought 
together  in  a  cruel  situation.  To  poor  Silence,  what 
she  saw  was  agony,  and  her  wild,  passionate  soul, 
that  had  for  long  crouched  submissively  behind  the 
barriers  of  her  dumbness,  now  rose,  of  a  sudden,  in 
hot  and  uncontrollable  rebellion.  Unfortunately, 
Laurel  had  passed  the  dial  to  Silence  across  the 
table,  and  she  was  holding  it  in  her  lap  just  as 
Master  Haynes  drew  shrinking  Mistress  Margaret 
from  behind  his  chair,  and  gave  her  a  playful  push 
towards  Hugh.  Silence,  shaken  in  every  limb  by 
the  violence  of  her  speechless  emotions,  crushed 
Hugh's  handicraft  in  both  her  hands,  hurled  it  from 
her  with  her  whole  strength,  and  then  fled  from  the 
room,  Laurel,  in  dismay,  following  her.  The  dial 
struck  the  wall  a  few  inches  above  Mistress  Mar- 
garet's head,  and  the  delicate  mechanism  of  its 
interior  fell  shattered  on  the  corner  of  the  hearth- 
stone. 

It  all  happened  in  a  flash,  and  the  consternation 
and  bewilderment  of  the  company  were  so  great  that 


286  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

one  and  all  rose  to  their  feet,  while  Gabriel  gave 
the  best  explanation  he  could  of  his  poor  child's 
infirmity,  saying  it  made  her  liable  at  times  to 
inexplicable  outbursts  of  passion.  The  scene  comes 
before  me  now  as  I  write — the  horrified  faces  of  the 
Puritan  guests ;  Master  Haynes  in  his  flowing  gown 
and  scarlet  skull-cap,  the  sly  twinkle  gone  entirely 
from  his  eyes  ;  Hugh  looking  ruefully  at  his  wrecked 
masterpiece  ;  Mistress  Margaret,  despite  her  narrow 
escape,  no  longer  shrinking  and  timid,  but  standing, 
brave  and  erect,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  casting 
the  oil  of  her  sweet-toned  speech  on  the  troubled 
waters. 

'  You  were  in  error,  sir,'  she  said  to  her  father, 
'to  think  that  Hugh  1'Estrange  and  I  could  wed 
withone  another.  We  are  friends  in  the  Lord, 
and  could  be  nothing  dearer,  even  if — her  voice 
trembled — '  if  Hugh  did  not  love  his  foster-sister.' 

'  Which  of  them  ?'  inquired  Master  Haynes. 
'  Methinks,  if  'tis  Mistress  Silence,  he  hath  caught 
a  Tartar.' 

No  wonder  that  in  his  irritation  and  disappoint- 
ment Master  Haynes  was  somewhat  forgetful  of  his 
courtesies  ! 

At  last  Hugh  spoke. 

'  I  am  most  sensible  of  your  bounteous  goodness, 
master,'  said  he,  '  but  I  am  undeserving  of  it,  and 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  287 

quite  unworthy  of  the  fair  prize,  and,  even  had  I 
been  worthy  to  receive  it,  I  should  have  forfeited  it 
now  that  the  work  which  won  it  is  destroyed.' 

Hugh's  new-found  relations  then  began  to  express 
their  chagrin  at  the  turn  the  affair  had  taken,  and 
their  host  to  apologize  for  what  he  had  designed  to 
be  a  betrothal  feast  turning  out  so  sorry  a  fiasco. 

'Twas  from  that  night  Silence  languished.  Her 
anger  had  soon  burnt  out,  leaving  but  the  ashes  of  a 
bitter  regret  for  what  she  had  done.  On  the  next 
morning  she  writ  a  note  to  Hugh,  beseeching  his 
forgiveness,  and  Laurel  went  herself  to  deliver  it 
into  his  hands  ;  but  Hugh  was  gone,  and  neither 
Mistress  Margaret  nor  her  father  knew  where.  One 
of  the  prentices,  however,  gave  the  information  that 
he  had  gone  to  enlist  once  more  in  his  old  regiment, 
the  war  having  then  broke  out  afresh.  It  is  nearly 
quenched  again  now,  the  Cavalier  standards  having 
been  unfurled  and  their  drooping  spirits  raised, 
mostly  for  naught. 

Colonel  Lovelace,  who  headed  the  rising  in  his 
native  county  of  Kent,  was  taken  prisoner,  and  is 
confined,  with  his  brother,  at  Petre  House,  in 
Aldersgate,  close  to  where  my  sister,  Peg  Bagshaw, 
lives.  General  Fairfax  is  besieging  Colchester,  and 
only  a  few  days  ago  there  was  fierce  fighting  not  far 
from  this  peaceful  spot.  The  Lord  Francis  Villiers, 


288  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

that  incomparably  gallant  and  beautiful  boy,  being 
overcome  by  the  rebels,  would  ask  no  quarter,  and, 
facing  them,  with  his  back  against  a  tree  on 
Kingston  highway,  received  ten  mortal  wounds. 
So  the  Angel  of  Death  is  still  busy  in  our  distracted 
country,  though  since  I  first  writ  in  these  pages  it 
hath  never  drawn  so  near  to  me  and  mine  as  now, 
when  my  husband's  sweet  child  lies  slowly  a-dying. 

Laurel  cannot  believe  it.  She  thinks,  if  only  she 
could  find  out  where  Hugh  is,  and  bring  him  to 
Silence  to  forgive  her  for  the  mischief  she  wrought 
that  April  evening,  her  loved  one  would  recover. 
I  do  not  tell  her  that  I  know  better,  and  that  'tis 
easier  to  break  hearts  than  to  mend  them. 

August  13. 

At  sunset  yesterday,  when  all  the  sky  was  aglow 
with  a  golden  glory,  and  the  sweet  scents  of  evening 
coming  through  the  casement,  Silence  died.  A 
minute  before  she  had  raised  herself  in  the  little 
bed.  Her  lips  moved  as  if  she  would  have  spoken, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  listening.  Laurel  verily 
believes  that  in  death  Lady  Eleanor's  prophecy  was 
fulfilled :  that  Silence's  ears  were  '  unstopped  and 
her  tongue  loosed.' 

'  She  can  hear  music  now,  and  loves  it,'  said 
Laurel, '  and  is  speaking  and  singing  with  the  angels.' 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  289 

'Tis  some  comfort  to  Laurel  in  her  sore  grief  to 
think  this,  as  it  is  to  feel  that  Silence  saw  Hugh 
before  she  died. 

'Twas  a  week  ago  that  Laurel  met  Hugh  by  a 
strange  accident,  with  some  others  of  his  brigade,  at 
ease  in  the  lane  on  which  the  Grange  gates  open. 
In  his  musqueteer  dress,  splashed  with  the  mud 
of  the  highway,  he  came  into  the  little  white 
chamber,  with  the  window  looking  out  on  the  garden 
and  the  woodlands,  wherein  Silence  lay,  and  dropped 
on  his  knees  beside  the  bed.  Too  spent,  for  she  had 
just  been  let  blood,  to  converse  in  the  old  signs,  she 
could  only  fix  her  eyes  on  his  face ;  and  when  she 
had  satisfied  herself  that  he  had  forgiven  her,  or 
perhaps  had  never  been  angry  with  her  at  all,  tears 
of  joy  rolled  down  her  wasted  cheeks.  She  put  out 
her  hand,  and  stroked  caressingly  the  bowed  tawny 
head  of  this  foster-brother,  the  hero  of  her  tender 
childhood,  the  one  love  of  her  silent,  inscrutable 
maidenhood.  Then,  with  her  other  hand,  she 
drew  Laurel's  face  down  to  rest  by  hers  on  the 
pillow. 

'  Console  each  other  when  I  am  gone,'  her  eyes 
seemed  to  say. 

I  looked  out  on  the  sunny  landscape,  and  watched 
the  purple  shadows  come  and  go  on  the  rippling 
cornfields  beyond  the  fence.  A  pair  of  wood-pigeons 

19 


290  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

were  cooing  in  a  fir-tree  near  the  window,  and  made 
the  only  sounds  that  broke  the  stillness. 

My  thoughts  went  back  to  the  snowy  January  day 
on  which  these  three,  with  their  dogs,  squirrel,  and 
parrot,  had  arrived  at  the  Gray  House  from  Blois. 
Somehow,  instead  of  the  greensward  of  the  Grange, 
I  saw  the  snow-covered  grass  plot  at  home — a  red- 
haired  boy  leaning  over  the  sundial,  and  an  active, 
swift,  darting  little  figure  being  restrained  from 
flying  to  him.  I  heard  Laurel's  clear  young  voice 
command,  '  Come  back,  Hugh  !  Silence  wants  you. 
Silence  wants  you.'  Methinks  that  hath  been  the 
cry  of  Laurel's  soul  always.  But  now  Silence's 
heart's  desire  is  stilled.  She  wants  Hugh  no  longer, 
for  she  lies  in  her  last  tranquil  sleep  at  rest — she 
who  once  was  so  full  of  restless,  eager  life,  as  if  she 
had  been  compelled  to  find  vent  in  movement  for  all 
that  her  speechlessness  withheld. 

The  chamber  is  sweet  with  the  fairest  flowers  and 
herbs  of  late  summer,  which  Laurel  has  heaped 
around  her  beloved  dead.  A  white  rose  is  clasped 
in  her  marble  hands.  The  border  skirting  the  terrace 
without  is  crimson  with  love-lies-bleeding.  Within 
love  lies  dead,  white,  pure,  and  peaceful. 

This  morning  Hugh  came  again,  and  looked  at 
Silence  in  her  dead  beauty.  'Twas  but  for  a  few 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  291 

minutes  he  tarried,  for  at  ten  of  the  clock  he  was  to 
fall  in  with  some  of  the  Yellow  Regiment  at  Putney 
to  march  to  the  trenches  before  Colchester.  My 
husband  was  too  plunged  in  grief  for  the  loss  of  his 
fair  daughter  to  speak  with  Hugh,  but  Laurel  and  I 
walked  with  him  to  the  gates.  Laurel's  was  a  tear- 
less sorrow,  and  'twas  more  distressing  than  if  she 
had  wept  and  wailed. 

She  had  not  said  a  word  to  Hugh  till  he  took  her 
hand,  and  murmured  a  husky  good-bye.  Then  she 
broke  forth  in  bitter  speech  : 

*  Now,  Hugh,  you  may  go  and  pledge  your  troth 
with  Mistress  Margaret.  There  is  no  longer  a  reason 
why  I  should  not  give  you  both  my  blessing  and 
come  to  your  wedding.  I  was  all  but  saying  "dance 
at  it,"  but  I  warrant  there  is  nought  that's  so  sinful 
as  dancing  permitted  at  Puritan  marriage-feasts.  I 
wish  you  joy,  Hugh,  with  all  my  heart.' 

Her  words  roused  some  emotion  in  Hugh  that  his 
customary  self-restraint  was  powerless  to  master.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  was  so  stung  to  the  quick  that, 
though  he  fain  would  hold  his  tongue,  he  could  not. 

'  Why  talk  of  weddings  now,  and  to  me  ?'  he 
asked.  '  Even  if  I  had  a  mind,  as  some  have,  to 
plight  troth  for  convenience  with  one  when  they  love 
another,  'twere  not  possible  in  my  case.  My  ap- 
prenticeship is  at  an  end :  I  return  no  more  to 

19 — 2 


292  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

Master  Haynes ;  and  when  this  second  war  is  over 
I  start  on  my  travels,  and  one  day,  maybe,  shall 
settle  and  ply  my  trade  at  Blois.  But  first  I  would 
meet  with  my  enemy  again.  He  whom  I  stood 
weakly  by  and  saw  saved  from  a  just  retribution 
because  it  was  you  who  saved  him.  Something 
has  grown  up  in  my  heart  like  a  hideous  gourd, 
choking  by  degrees  all  high  spiritual  striving  and 
nobler  feelings.  Methinks  the  devil  must  have 
planted  the  seed  there,  and  God  has  forsaken  me.  I 
have  prayed,  but  the  only  prayer  that  passes  my  lips 
is  for  revenge,  that  I  may  not  let  another  chance 
slip,  that  my  enemy  may  once  more  be  delivered  into 
my  hands.' 

Laurel  looked  at  him  with  strained,  horrified  eyes. 

4  Have  you  forgot,  Hugh,'  she  cried — '  forgot  that 
your  enemy  is  your  father  ?' 

'  Nay,  'tis  because  he  is  my  father  that  he  is  doubly 
my  enemy.  Can  I  love  and  honour  the  father  who 
made  my  mother  suffer  ere  I  breathed  ?  'Twas  his 
cruelty  robbed  me  of  my  mother.  For  that,  without 
knowing  him,  I  think  I  have  hated  him  all  my 
life.' 

'Twas  terrible  to  see  how  his  wrath  transformed 
him.  One  would  hardly  have  known  him  for  the 
same  youth  who,  but  half  an  hour  ago,  had  entered 
the  presence  of  the  dead,  with  reverent  steps  and 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  293 

head  humbly  bent,  as  if  he  came  into  the  Holy  of 
Holies. 

'  But  you  were  not  without  a  mother's  love.  Our 
mother  nurtured  you  as  her  own,  and  we — we  loved 
you.' 

The  bitter  note  in  Laurel's  voice  had  melted  now 
into  infinite  tenderness,  and  at  sound  of  it  the  fierce 
glitter  died  from  Hugh's  red-brown  eyes. 

'  Forgive  me  !  My  boyhood  was  blessed  indeed  ; 
the  ties  of  blood  could  not  be  dearer  and  sweeter 
than  those  that  bound  me  to  my  foster-sisters.  I  am 
not  such  a  monster  of  ingratitude  as  to  forget  them, 
except  when  this  ' — he  put  his  hand  to  the  back  of 
his  head  on  the  place  where  he  had  been  wounded 
in  the  strange  affray  with  the  man  who  had  proved 
to  be  his  father — '  when  this  drives  all  recollections 
but  one  from  my  mind,  and  maddens  my  brain.  It 
hath  changed  me.  'Tis  because  of  it  that  I  have 
shunned  lately  those  I  most  loved.  In  sooth,  it 
has  made  me  thoughtless,  or  I  should  have  told 
her ' — reverently  he  raised  his  eyes  in  the  direction 
of  the  little  casement — '  surely  I  should  have  told 
her  I  minded  not  the  breaking  of  that  toy.  'Tis  well 
you  should  know  the  worst  of  me — how  evil  I've 
grown  to  be.  And  now,  farewell.' 

He  stooped,  kissing  first  mine  and  then  Laurel's 
hand.  The  next  moment  he  was  gone. 


294  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  Oh,  why  did  I  speak  those  taunting  words, 
mother  ?  Why  was  I  so  wroth  ?  I  would  fain  call 
him  back  now  'tis  too  late.  To  let  him  go  away 
thus  will  but  harden  his  heart  the  more  against  his 
enemy — his  father.  Tis  dreadful  to  think  on't.  He 
cannot  be  wicked — Hugh  !  He  was  always  good  to 
Silence,  and  patient  with  her.  If  he  broke  her  heart, 
he  did  not  mean  to  do  it.  Ay,  I  would  fain  call  him 
back.  She  loved  him  so — she  loved  him  so !' 

And  Laurel  laid  her  proud  head,  like  a  broken 
flower,  on  my  shoulder,  and  burst  out  a-weeping.  I 
was  relieved  to  see  her  tears  come  at  last,  but 
methought  she  wept  more  for  Hugh  than  for  Silence 
— Silence,  whom  she  deems  happy  listening  to  the 
music  of  the  angels.  Laurel  vows  she  will  try  not  to 
mourn  too  much  for  Silence. 

AT  THE  GRAY  HOUSE, 
CHANCERY  LANE, 

September,  1648. 

The  rains  being  so  heavy,  and  the  country  dreary, 
we  took  leave  of  our  Kingston  kinsfolk  and  returned 
home  soon  after  Silence  was  buried  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  yews  in  the  quiet  churchyard.  Gabriel 
hath  designed  a  little  cross  of  fair  white  stone  to 
mark  her  grave.  Methinks  my  husband  looks  many 
years  older  since  this  loss  has  so  saddened  him.  He 
speaks  of  it  little,  and  has  gone  back  to  his  dear 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  295 

books,  and  is  as  much  occupied  as  heretofore  in 
writing,  translating,  and  visiting  the  booksellers  on 
London  Bridge,  Paul's  Churchyard,  and  elsewhere. 
Be  the  weather  foul  or  fine,  he  will  go  forth  daily 
a-book-hunting,  even  if  it  be  only  as  far  as  the  turn- 
stile in  Holborn.  Yet  he  may  do  this  and  never  for- 
get for  one  minute  the  sweet  child  he  left  under  the 
sward  at  Kingston. 

'Twas  a  sad  home-coming  without  Silence,  and 
great  was  my  little  Viking's  grief  when  we  made  him 
understand  that  the  mute  playmate,  whom  he  held 
in  such  fondness,  would  never  make  him  any  more 
story-pictures  with  her  needle  or  romp  with  him 
again.  He  doth  check  himself  with  difficulty  in  his 
quaint  infant  prayers,  where  he  was  wont  to  ask  God 
to  bless  Silence.  '  I  forgot,'  says  he, '  Silence  is  with 
God  now,  and  He  will  keep  her  and  not  let  her  come 
back  to  Olave  and  Marie  any  more.'  And  then  he 
goes  on  with  his  prayer  as  usual. 

How  odd  it  sounded  that  night  we  came  home  to 
hear  cried  in  the  streets  news  from  the  North  of 
General  Cromwell's  vanquishing  and  slaughtering  of 
the  Scots,  when  'twas  these  very  Scots  who  were 
his  stout  allies  at  the  great  victory  of  Marston  Moor 
four  years  agone.  And  now  this  second  war,  which 
hath  been  ill-starred  for  the  Royalists  from  the  first, 
is  over  ;  for  at  the  end  of  the  last  month  the 


296  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

besieged  in  Colchester,  reduced  to  sore  extremities, 
having  long  lived  on  horseflesh,  yielded  themselves 
to  the  conquerors,  and  the  two  brave  officers  who  had 
defended  the  town  with  such  valour,  Sir  Charles 
Lucas  and  Sir  George  Lisle,  were  shot  to  death  on 
the  walls  by  order  of  General  Ireton. 

The  King  is  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  a  prisoner  at 
Carisbrook  Castle,  where  the  Governor,  Colonel 
Hammond,  serves  the  Parliament  rather  than  the 
army,  and  again  commissioners  have  gone  hence  to 
enter  into  treaty  with  His  Majesty  at  Newport ;  but 
'twill  end  in  smoke,  as  all  other  negotiations  have 
done. 

Some  are  even  daring  to  petition  that  the  King 
shall  be  brought  to  trial  for  the  great  bloodshed  and 
calamity  'tis  said  his  tyranny  have  caused  the 
nation. 

I  think  not  any  of  my  brother  Roger's  escapades 
hath  angered  and  disgusted  me  more  than  his  turning 
his  coat  as  he  hath  done  ;  for  he  is  now  in  the 
service  and  pay  of  those  very  men  he  fought  against 
in  the  field.  None  the  less  is  he  in  high  favour  with 
his  stepmother  in  Hart  Street,  and  she  doth  lavish 
on  him  indulgences  and  endearments  when  he  is 
there  that  he  but  ill  deserves.  Naught  of  his  bold 
and  wicked  scheme  to  carry  off  Laurel  by  force  is 
known  in  Hart  Street  ;  for  when  it  came  out, 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  297 

Gabriel  desired  that  my  father  should  not  be  told, 
as  it  would  but  add  to  his  cares  and  sorrows  and 
serve  no  purpose. 

'Tis  likely  enow  they  thought  me  stiff  and  cold, 
when,  dining  there  yesterday,  I  found  Roger  of  the 
party.  But  he  was  not  in  any  way  abashed  at  seeing 
me,  and  discoursed  with  his  old  bravado  on  all  the 
current  topics,  and  airily  explained  his  change  of 
views. 

Madam  and  he  bandied  compliments,  and  it 
provoked  me  much  to  hear  them.  Her  godson, 
quoth  she,  had  been  her  first  love  in  the  family,  and 
never  had  there  been  a  prettier  countenance  or  a 
sweeter  curly  pate  than  his  at  three  years  old. 
Not  Will  or  Tim  or  even  Jack  had  been  fit  to  hold 
a  candle  to  him  at  that  age. 

'  And  now,  alack !  of  the  whole  bunch  none  is  so 
unhandsome,  inside  and  out,  as  I  am.  Ask  sister 
Lovejoy.'  He  laughed  across  at  me  with  bold, 
unflinching  eyes. 

*  And  how  fond  you  were  in  those  days  of  ginger 
tangies  gilded  with  kissing  comfits!'  went  on  madam 
with  inconsequence.  '  Dost  remember  stealing  two 
from  my  blue  delf  jar  ?  Nay,  but  you  were  nine 
years,  and  old  enough  to  know  better,  when  you  ate 
too  freely  at  my  table  of  a  jumbal  of  apricots,  and 
had  to  be  dosed  for  it  afterwards.' 


298  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

'  I  recollect  well  how  delicious  'twas.  Would  such 
jumbals  were  made  nowadays  !'  Roger  said. 

'  Well,  look  inside  that  chafing-dish,  and  you'll 
see  they  are ' 

So  they  went  on  thus  foolishly  trifling,  my  father 
paying  no  heed,  but  scoring  down  an  air  that  had 
occurred  to  him  on  a  piece  of  music-paper  beside  his 
plate.  If  they  both  belong  to  the  serious  party  from 
'  conscience  sake,'  as  they  say,  one  would  not  judge 
it  so  from  their  light  converse. 

And  the  outer  aspect  of  my  old  home  is  so  changed 
under  the  reign  of  my  father's  second  wife.  Me- 
thinks  he  might  as  well  have  moved  to  her  house  in 
Seething  Lane  as  let  her  so  transform  the  familiar, 
simple  chambers.  The  buff  wainscot  is  hid  by  hang- 
ings far  too  rich  and  heavy  for  the  size  of  the  parlour 
— traps  for  dust,  Penelope  grumbles — and  all  the 
dear  old  music-books  have  been  banished  to  make 
way  for  ivory  figures,  Chinese  puzzles,  and  sandal- 
wood  workboxes  and  the  like.  The  pompous  presence 
of  madam's  great-grandfather,  who  was  Lord  Mayor, 
doth  fill  the  dining-room  to  oppression,  his  picture 
over  the  chimney  being  the  biggest  that  ever  I  saw. 

'Tis  no  wonder  that  poor  Jane  is  sorely  vexed  at 
the  thought  of  quitting  our  dear  Mistress  Anne  Fan- 
shawe  to  come  to  this  altered  home  again,  where  she 
will  not  find  her  Jack,  who  is  gone  to  serve  as  a  page 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  299 

in  my  Lord  Ormond's  household.  When  the  time 
conies  for  Laurel  to  take  her  place  with  Mistress 
Anne — as  she  doth  hope  to  do  next  year — I  will  ask 
Gabriel  to  let  me  have  Jane  at  the  Gray  House  to 

teach  Olave  his  book. 

December  29,  1648. 

What  a  Yuletide  this  hath  been  !  Not  all  through 
these  years  of  civil  strife  and  Puritan  rule  has,  me- 
thinks,  the  festival  been  so  shorn  of  every  outward 
sign  of  jollity  amd  merry-making,  so  shadowed  and 
weighted  by  the  gloom  of  what  has  been  and  is  yet 
to  come.  The  King  has  been  brought  near  us  again, 
and  is  at  his  royal  castle  of  Windsor.  God  only 
knows  what  the  next  move  will  be  !  The  vast  masses 
of  soldiers  in  and  about  London  give  it  the  look  of 
being  besieged  from  within  and  without.  They  are 
quartered  on  the  citizens,  and  that  same  Colonel 
Pride,  whose  boast  'tis  that  he  hath  purged  the  Par- 
liament by  turning  out  all  its  members  who  are  not 
extreme  Republicans,  has  cleared  Southwark  of 
play-houses  and  closed  the  bear-pits.  If  'twere  for 
the  bears'  sake,  I  should  be  glad,  for  I  have  always 
abhorred  that  cruel  pastime  of  bear-baiting. 

On  Christmas  Eve  we  were  bid  to  the  christening 
of  my  sister  Bagshaw's  third  babe.  Peg  is  mighty 
proud  of  having  so  far  outstripped  me  in  this  respect. 
No  chiming  of  sweet  bells  on  the  frosty  air,  no 


300  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

laughter  and  merriment  from  lads  and  lasses  wreathed 
with  greenery  and  mistletoe,  did  greet  us  as  we  came 
down  from  High  Holborn  and  passed  within  the  city 
wall.  The  fair  Gothic  spires  and  turrets  stood  dumb 
against  the  misty  sky ;  the  only  sounds  in  the  streets 
they  soared  above  were  the  clank  of  spurs  and  sword, 
the  groaning  forth  of  some  unmelodious  psalm.  In 
the  doorways,  in  the  windows,  everywhere,  were 
those  grim,  stern  faces  of  the  sectarian  soldiery. 
They  looked  down  on  us  full  of  threat,  methought, 
from  the  lancets  and  battlements  of  ancient  Alder- 
gate,  as  we  turned  into  the  stately  street,  with  its 
garden  houses  standing  alone,  where  Gabriel  hath 
often  said  he  could  dream  he  were  in  some  town  of 
Italy  again. 

The  interior  of  Peg's  home,  seemed  bright  and 
jocund,  all  decked  with  evergreen  and  sprigs  of  holly, 
after  the  gloom  of  the  streets.  Most  of  the  fonts  in 
the  city  churches  are  being  used  by  the  troopers  as 
troughs  for  their  horses,  so  we  christened  Peg's  new 
babe  in  the  parlour  that  is  lined  with  shelves  holding 
apothecary's  vials  and  jars,  containing  Venice  treacle, 
electuaries  and  divers  other  decoctions,  and  where 
hang  two  great  charts  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood. 
We  drank  to  the  baby  and  its  beaming  parents  in 
my  stepmother's  ancestral  canary  sack,  a  flagon  of 
which  had  preceded  hers  and  my  father's  arrival. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  301 

Madam,  when  she  sailed  into  the  company  with  a 
majestic  air  of  importance,  disdained  to  recognise 
Prue,  who  had  come  without  her  husband,  and, 
indeed,  looked  very  sad  and  different  from  the  old 
sprightly,  pretty  Prue,  in  a  gown  of  some  coarse, 
cheap  stuff.  Poor  Prue  is  repenting  at  leisure,  I 
fear,  the  marriage  she  was  in  such  haste  to  make, 
and  said  with  a  sigh,  when  she  took  Peg's  eldest  boy, 
who  has  just  been  breeched,  on  her  knee,  'twas 
well  she  had  no  children. 

When  the  ceremony  was  over,  Master  Bagshaw 
opened  his  case  of  viols,  and  my  father  started  the 
music.  After  some  fugues  had  been  played,  we 
gathered  round  the  Yuletide  log  and  sang  little  short 
songs,  called  canzonets,  for  three  voices,  and  fal-lals 
for  five  voices,  and  such  old  ballads  as  'All  in  a 
Garden  Green '  and  '  Lord  Willoughby's  Welcome 
Home.' 

In, a  pause  'twixt  the  songs  Peg  pushed  open  a 
lattice  in  the  window  that  doth  open  also  like  a  door 
on  to  the  pot-herb  garden  which  they  have  at  the 
back  of  the  small  house.  The  parlour  was  over- 
heated, she  said,  being  narrow  space  for  so  many 
guests. 

'And  'tis  at  this  hour  the  prisoners,'  added  she, 
'come  forth  from  Petre  House  next  door  for  their 
short  exercise  in  the  pleasaunce.  'Twill  liven  them, 


302  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

perchance,  if  the  strains  of  our  music  reach  their 
ears.  Colonel  Richard  Lovelace,  most  of  all,  would 
fain  hear  it.  He  was  brought  thither  on  my  Lord 
Holland's  defeat,  and  'tis  said  he  and  his  brother 
have  lost  all  their  moneys  and  property,  and  have 
come  to  utter  ruin  in  serving  the  King.  In  truth, 
he  doth  look  sore  cast  down  and  wretched — he  who 
once  was  so  gay  and  comely  a  Cavalier.' 

'  His  captivity  is  not  so  drear  as  some/  her  husband 
said.  '  He  is  allowed  the  use  of  writing  materials, 
and  passes  the  time  in  collecting  for  a  volume  the 
numerous  lyrics  he  hath  writ  to  Lucasta.' 

*  She  who  did  not  wait  to  hear  a  report  confirmed 
that  he  was  slain  in  the  war  with  the  Scots  ere  she 
hastened  to  wed  with  another  !  A  fig  for  his  Lucasta !' 
Prue  explained,  with  something  of  her  old  pert  spirit. 
'  Methinks  her  constancy  was  so  short-lived  as  to  be 
unworthy  of  his,  which  is  deathless.' 

I  recalled  how  Peg  and  Prue  when  they  were 
maids  had  quarrelled  over  the  little  posy  which 
Colonel  Lovelace  had  let  fall  on  Hampstead  Common, 
and  how  scornfully  Laurel  had  tossed  it  to  them. 
But  now  Laurel,  who  had  taken  her  lute  to  sing,  was 
leaning  forward,  hearkening  attentively  to  every  word 
being  said  about  the  prisoner  next  door,  with  that 
curious  softness  that  only  his  name  can  bring  to  her 
beautiful  eyes. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  303 

Then  she  rose  in  her  queenly  grace,  holding  her 
lute  in  one  hand,  and  lifting  her  heavy  black  skirts 
with  the  other. 

'  I  am  faint,'  she  murmured  ;  '  if  the  company  will 
excuse  my  song,  I  will  go  into  the  air.' 

She  walked  swiftly  to  the  window,  and,  unfastening 
it,  passed  into  the  wintry  gloaming. 

Since  Silence  died  my  husband  hath  been  dis- 
posed more  than  ever  to  humour  any  vagary  of 
Laurel's. 

'  Follow  her,  dear  heart,'  he  whispered,  '  and  see 
that  she  takes  no  hurt.' 

I  threw  a  cloak  about  me,  and,  with  another  for 
Laurel,  went  after  her  down  the  narrow  pathway 
'twixt  the  patches  of  herbs.  'Twas  as  if  a  magnet 
had  drawn  her  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  where,  from 
a  mound  raised  slightly  above  the  wall,  'twas  possible 
to  overlook  the  paved  pleasaunce  of  Petre  House  on 
the  other  side.  As  I  came  up  with  her  and  put  the 
wrap  on  her  shoulders,  Laurel  struck  her  lute  very 
softly,  and  began  to  sing  wellnigh  under  her  breath. 
'Twas  but  one  verse  she  sang  of  that  ancient  ballad 
of  the  North,  but  it  had  its  effect.  As  the  sweet  low 
notes  died,  Colonel  Lovelace,  standing  below  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall  which  was  high  on  his  side,  lifted 
his  face.  Alack !  how  changed  that  face  since  we 
saw  it  last — pale  and  haggard,  its  brilliance  faded,  its 


304  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

expression  of  debonair  youth  gone.  Years  of  sorrow 
and  affliction  may  pass  over  some  without  blanching 
a  hair  of  their  heads  or  changing  a  line  of  their 
features.  With  others  a  week,  or  even  a  night,  of 
grievous  calamity  is  sufficient  to  age  and  stamp 
despair  on  the  countenance. 

'  Can  I  believe  my  ears  ?  Have  I  really  heard  on 
this  chill,  clouded  winter  eve  the  nightingale  that  my 
memory  doth  associate  with  a  joyous  Maytime  in 
Oxon?'  'Twas  the  same  courteous,  musical  voice, 
but  with  a  ring  of  hopelessness  in  it  withal.  '  Sweet 
lady,'  it  continued,  '  I  pray  you  give  me  news  of 
the  King,  for  naught  of  it  is  permitted  to  reach 
us  here.' 

'The  King!  Ay,  'tis  not  well  with  the  King,' 
answered  Laurel ;  '  his  Majesty  is  in  dire  peril. 
Hundreds  in  this  great  London  there  are  who  would 
fain  cry,  "  God  save  him  !"  but  Cromwell's  soldiers 
swarm  in  every  street,  lane,  and  alley,  ready  to  thrust 
the  words  back  in  their  throats  at  sword-point.  The 
Mayor  the  people  chose  this  time  was  loyal,  but  the 
army  hath  sent  him  to  the  Tower.  And  they  dare  to 
speak  of  bringing  the  King  to  trial.' 

'They  will  judge  their  King?  Then  he  is  lost. 
Ay,  and  I  doomed  to  loiter  here  inactive.  Why  was 
it  not  my  happy  fate  to  die  for  him,  as  others  of  his 
servants  ?  Why  was  this  broken  heart  not  the  target 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  305 

for  deadly  bullets  or  thrust  by  sword  ?    Why,  oh,  why, 
am  I  let  live  to  be  of  no  service  to  my  King  ?' 

Laurel  bent  far  over  the  wall. 

'  Escape,'  she  urged — '  escape,  Colonel  Lovelace. 
The  King  hath  need  of  his  friends.  They  might  yet 
do  something,  methinks.  One  such  friend  as  you  is 
a  host  in  himself.  No  one  is  watching  you  at  this 
moment.  Surely  this  wall  is  not  difficult  to  scale.  I 
would  give  you  my  cloak,  and  through  my  sister's 
house  yonder  you  could  get  free — free  to  do  your 
King  glorious  service  again  at  the  eleventh  hour. 
Do  not  hesitate ;  no  one  is  looking.  The  wall  is  easy 
to  scale ;  now  is  the  moment.  But  you  do  not  move. 
Colonel  Lovelace,  you  do  not  move.' 

She  spoke  in  rapid,  breathless,  eager  tones,  for- 
getful of  me  beside  her,  and  all  else  except  her  mad 
desire  to  set  the  captive  free.  He  only  smiled  sadly 
in  response,  and  shook  his  head.  The  next  moment 
the  guards  had  come  forward  and  seized  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

'  You  have  done  your  malignant  friend  a  doubtful 
kindness,  fair  temptress,'  said  the  captain  of  the 
guard.  '  For  this  he  will  but  lose  the  liberty  he  has 
enjoyed  here  hitherto,  and  be  more  closely  confined.' 

And  Laurel,  with  a  cry  of  distress,  swayed  back- 
wards from  the  wall  and  fell  swooning  into  my 
arms. 

20 


306  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

February  7. 

Since  I  last  writ  anything  here  a  great  and  awful 
tragedy  has  been  enacted  that  has  filled  all  London — 
nay,  I  should  say  the  whole  world — with  horror  and 
indignation.  On  January  20  the  King's  mock  trial 
began  in  Westminster ;  for  how  could  that  be  called 
a  genuine  trial  in  which  the  judges  had  no  legal 
authority,  but  were,  for  the  most  part,  brewers, 
butchers,  and  the  like,  and  who  had  condemned  His 
Majesty,  and  found  him  steeped  in  guilt  before  the 
proceedings  began  ?  The  most  illustrious  of  the 
King's  foes,  General  Fairfax,  held  himself  sternly 
aloof  from  the  court,  which  his  lady  attended  to 
make  an  heroic  protest,  to  her  lasting  honour. 

The  grim  Tower  prison,  so  near  us  in  Hart  Street, 
with  its  executions,  its  languishing  captives,  its 
history  of  heart-broken  sighs  and  tears  and  tragic 
woe,  shadowed  and  awed  our  happy  childhood,  but 
naught  that  happened  there  was  ever  half  so  iniqui- 
tous and  terrible  as  this :  a  King  stepping  from  a 
window  in  his  own  palace,  the  scene  of  his  past 
pomp  and  domestic  peace,  the  palace  that  'twas  his 
delight  to  beautify  with  the  masterpieces  of  art — 
stepping  on  to  the  scaffold  to  be  murdered  in  the 
eyes  of  his  subjects  by  masked  ruffians.  My  Sir 
Oracle  says  they  who  have  suffered  this  horrid  act  to 
be  done,  and  have  hurried  the  King  to  his  end,  are 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  307 

guilty  not  only  of  a  crime,  but  of  a  profound  political 
error.  For  now  the  King's  wrong-doing,  his  weak 
rulership  and  insincere  dealings,  will  be  forgot,  the 
noble  and  lofty  manner  in  which  he  met  his  dreadful 
death  atoning  for  all.  'Tis  not  as  a  tyrant,  but  as  a 
martyr,  that  his  memory  will  live  on  fresh  and  green 
in  the  hearts  of  his  people. 

But  I  cannot  write  more  of  it,  the  murder  of  the 
King,  and  Laurel  cannot  speak  of  it.  She  hath 
deepened  the  mourning  weeds  she  wears  for  Silence, 
and  her  face  is  most  sorrowful.  Last  night,  through 
the  thick  and  fast-falling  snow,  a  few  faithful  servants 
bore  their  dead  King  to  Windsor,  and  buried  him 
there  in  the  Chapel  of  St.  George. 


20 — 2 


XIII 

CHANCERY  LANE,  1651. 

IT  seems  'tis  often  the  sight  of  my  husband's  kins- 
woman, my  own  dear  friend  Anne  Fanshawe  (her  Dick 
hath  been  made  a  baronet  by  his  master,  and  she  is 
now  '  my  lady  '),  that  is  the  cause  of  my  taking  forth 
this  book  again  after  a  long  period  of  neglect,  to 
write  in  it  once  more. 

How  marvellously  chequered  and  full  of  hazards  by 
land  and  sea  her  life  hath  been,  and  mine  in  com- 
parison doth  appear  but  a  humdrum  round  of  homely 
duties.  Each  time  we  meet  after  a  separation  I  could 
fill,  not  one,  but  several  books,  methinks,  with  the 
wondrous  tales  she  tells  me  of  escapes  from  ship- 
wrecks, pirates,  and  robbers,  of  the  adventures  and 
great  people  she  has  met  with  in  foreign  towns,  of 
ghosts  and  apparitions,  of  hardships  and  sickness. 

When  Sir  Richard  was  sent  for  to  Scotland  out  of 

France  to  wait  on  his  young  Majesty  Charles  Stuart 

as   his    secretary,   his    lady   came   hither  with   her 

children  to  a  lodging  in  London,  where  she  stayed 

[308] 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  309 

seven  months,  during  which  time  I  saw  her  nearly 
every  day,  and  Laurel  was  with  her  altogether.  She 
was  much  distraught,  letters  from  her  husband  being 
few  and  far  between  ;  and  this  anxiety  for  his  safety 
and  the  King's,  and  the  pain  she  was  in,  prevented 
her  from  going  out  to  take  the  air  more  than  seven 
times  in  these  seven  months.  But  one  bright  day  in 
June  another  little  daughter  was  born  to  her,  to  be 
her  solace  in  these  anxious  hours,  and  soon  she  was 
able  to  travel  to  Ware  Park,  the  goodly  seat  of  the 
Fanshawes,  in  Hertfordshire. 

There  the  news  was  brought  to  her  of  the  Battle 
of  Worcester  being  fought  on  September  3,  Oliver 
Cromwell  winning  the  day,  as  a  year  before,  on  the 
same  date,  he  had  won  it  at  Dunbar  and  scattered 
the  Covenanters.  The  King  was  missing,  and 
naught  heard  of  Sir  Richard  Fanshawe  being  dead 
or  alive  for  three  days.  Laurel  writ  that  her  dear 
lady  neither  slept  nor  eat,  and  trembled  at  every 
sound  she  heard,  till  the  news-book  came  at  last  with 
Sir  Richard's  name  among  the  prisoners.  At  once 
she  set  out  for  London  with  Laurel  and  her  eldest 
little  girl  Nan,  whom  she  calls  the  '  companion  of 
her  travels  and  troubles.'  Her  purpose  was  to  leave 
Nan  with  us,  and  then  to  go  and  find  out  where  Sir 
Richard  was. 

I  took  Olave  and  Jane,  attended  by  Juan.     We  set 


3io  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

out  betimes  to  see  them  alight  from  the  Ware  coach 
at  the  Vine  in  Bishopsgate.  'Twas  a  crisp  autumn 
morning,  and  the  golden  sunlight  shone  on  the  roofs 
and  steeples  of  the  City,  the  sky  above  being  blue  and 
cloudless.  I  mark  the  weather  because  'twas  soon 
after  that  those  rains  and  storms  began  that  scarce 
ceased  at  all  for  many  weeks. 

We  had  hardly  got  nearer  the  Vine  than  St.  Ethel- 
burga's  when  Laurel  spied  us,  and  came  running  to 
us  in  much  excitement. 

'  My  dear  lady  has  had  a  message  by  the  way,'  she 
exclaimed,  '  and  'tis  from  Sir  Richard.  He  bids  her 
take  a  room  at  Charing  Cross,  for  he  will  be  brought 
by  there  to-day,  and  his  keeper  will  let  him  rest  as  a 
great  favour  at  dinner-time  in  my  lady's  company,  so 
she  has  bestirred  herself  to  go  thither  forthwith  to 
engage  a  room  and  order  a  dinner.  She  wishes  us  to 
follow,  and  we  shall  find  her  father  and  many  other 
friends  there.' 

We  turned  about  and  took  coach  for  Charing 
Cross,  and,  coming  near  it,  I  saw  my  dear  friend 
holding  her  little  Nan  by  the  hand,  standing  on  the 
steps  of  an  ordinary  opposite  the  Cross.  She 
beckoned  to  us,  and  bid  us  come  into  the  private 
room  she  had  taken  that  looked  on  the  street.  The 
table  was  already  spread  with  cold  meats  and  neats' 
tongues  and  Rhenish  wine. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  311 

'  Prompt  as  ever  to  obey  instructions,'  I  said,  as  I 
embraced  her. 

'  How  could  I  be  other  than  prompt,'  replied  she 
with  shining  eyes,  '  when  'tis  such  a  joy  to  have 
instructions  to  obey  ?' 

Then  Sir  John  Harrison  and  Margaret  came,  and 
others  of  their  intimate  acquaintance,  and  at  eleven 
of  the  clock  we  all  went  to  the  windows,  for  word 
came  the  prisoners  were  being  brought  up.  Hun- 
dreds there  were  of  them,  both  English  and  Scotch, 
footsore  and  weary  from  the  march,  and  what  rags 
yet  clung  to  them  stained  with  blood  and  thick  with 
dust. 

A  well-known,  clear-toned,  jovial  voice  sounded  in 
our  ears  : 

*  Pray  let  us  lose  no  time,  for  I  know  not  how 
much  I  have  to  spare.  This  is  the  chance  of  war. 
Nothing  venture,  nothing  have,  so  let  us  sit  down 
and  be  merry  whilst  we  may.' 

And  Sir  Richard's  tall  figure  stood  in  our  midst. 
He  greeted  each  one  of  us  cheerfully,  kissed  his  wife, 
and  tossed  Nan  to  his  shoulder.  A  most  chivalrous, 
gallant  gentleman  he  looked,  despite  the  hardships 
he  had  suffered  ;  and  how  light  he  made  of  them  to 
dry  Anne's  tears,  which,  said  he,  were  the  only 
things  on  earth  could  move  him  ! 

He  sat  down  at  the  table,  with  his  Nan  nestling  to 


312  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

his  side,  and  his  wife  smiling  at  him  through  her 
tears,  and  hanging  on  his  lips  as  he  told  us  some- 
thing of  his  adventures. 

His  captain  had  been  very  kind  to  him,  Sir 
Richard  said,  and  people  had  offered  him  money  on 
the  march,  and  brought  him  good  things  to  eat. 
Lady  Denham,  of  Borstall  House,  would  have  given 
him  all  the  money  in  her  purse,  but  he  craved  of  her 
instead  a  shirt  or  two  and  some  handkerchiefs. 
She  had  fetched  him,  then,  two  smocks  of  her  own, 
and  some  handkerchiefs,  saying  she  was  ashamed  to 
give  him  her  own ;  but  having  none  of  her  sons  at 
home,  she  desired  him  to  wear  them. 

So  the  precious  time,  all  too  short,  passed,  until 
the  order  came  that  Sir  Richard  was  to  be  carried  to 
Whitehall  to  his  prison  on  the  bowling-green. 

Tenderly  he  withdrew  himself  from  the  clinging 
arms  of  his  wife  and  child,  and  as  he  took  leave  of 
me  he  was  pleased  to  say,  with  a  cheery  smile : 

'  I  shall  be  easy  in  my  mind  about  my  dear  wife, 
knowing  she  is  to  be  lodged  with  you,  for  the  present, 
in  Chancery  Lane.  At  her  cousin  Young's  she  is 
always  in  good  keeping.' 

This  was  six  weeks  agone,  and  still  Sir  Richard  is 
pent  up  in  that  one  small,  close  room  on  the  bowling- 
green  at  Whitehall,  not  allowed  to  breathe  the  air  or 
to  hold  speech  with  any ;  and  into  sad  ill-health  hath 


at 

a 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  313 

he  fallen,  from  exposure  to  cold  and  the  long,  hard 
marches  of  that  last  ill-starred  rally  for  the  Stuarts. 

'  Love  laughs  at  locksmiths,'  and  Sir  Richard's 
loving,  brave  wife  hath  found  a  way  of  holding  speech 
with  him,  however  much  the  powers  forbid  it.  When 
four  of  the  clock  booms  from  the  steeples  in  these  chill, 
damp  mornings  of  the  wettest  autumn  that  ever  I 
knew,  constantly  is  her  footstep  heard  descending  the 
stair,  and  she  goes  forth  with  a  dark  lantern  in  her 
hand.  All  alone  and  on  foot  she  speeds  along  the 
sleeping  Strand,  and,  coming  to  Whitehall,  doth 
enter  the  bowling-green  from  King  Street.  Once 
there,  she  steals  beneath  his  window,  and  softly  calls 
to  him,  and  he,  putting  out  his  head  at  the  sound  of 
the  dear  voice,  they  talk  together. 

'Twas  but  this  morning,  when  the  rain  beat 
fiercely  against  the  lattices,  that  I  heard  her  go.  I 
rose  early,  and  went  to  write  beside  the  big  hearth 
in  the  hall  to  await  her  return. 

She  came  in  a-laughing. 

'The  mermaid's  come  back,  Lovejoy  !'  said  she. 
'  I  vow  I  am  so  wet  the  raindrops  have  gone  in  at 
my  neck  and  out  at  my  heels  !' 

I  went  with  her  to  her  chamber  to  help  her  to 
put  on  dry  raiment. 

'  I  have  often  rid  for  miles  and  miles  in  such  rain 
as  this  in  the  days  that  I  was  a  hoyting  girl.  You 


314  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

remember  those  days?'  she  asked.  'Well,  methinks 
'tis  what  remains  of  the  hoyting  girl  spirit  in  me 
carries  me  through.' 

'  Through  dangers  of  plunderings,  ship-wreckings, 
the  plague,  naked  swords,  and  drownings,'  said  I, 
referring  to  some  of  her  experiences  abroad  and  in 
Ireland. 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  '  I  was  the  hoyting  girl  again 
when,  sailing  for  Spain,  I  borrowed  the  cabin  boy's 
blue  thrum  cap  and  tarred  coat  for  half  a  crown, 
and  crept  up  to  the  deck  to  stand  beside  my 
husband,  who  thought  I  was  locked  up  in  the  cabin, 
the  captain  having  ordered  no  woman  to  show 
herself,  because  our  ship  was  threatened  by  a 
Turkish  galley,  and,  had  they  seen  women,  the 
Turks  would  have  boarded  us  and  made  us  all 
slaves !  With  him  I  am  ever  fearless.  'Tis  parting 
and  separation  from  him  that  makes  a  coward 
of  me.' 

And  then  she  left  off  wringing  the  damp  out  of  her 
hair,  and  suddenly  all  the  fatigues  of  her  early 
expedition  to  Whitehall  through  the  rain  seemed 
to  overcome  her.  Her  voice  grew  weary,  her  face 
white  and  wan,  and  I  besought  her  to  repose  herself 
till  evening. 

But  long  ere  that  she  was  come  forth  from  her 
chamber,  sprightly  and  gay  once  more.  She  joined 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  315 

in  a  romp  with  her  little  Nan  and  my  Olave,  who 
says  when  he  is  grown  a  man  he  shall  like  well  to 
marry  Nan.  Later,  at  fall  of  dusk,  she  sat  in  the 
gloaming  light,  with  her  two  adoring  handmaidens, 
Laurel  and  Jane,  at  her  feet,  and  did  enthral  and 
thrill  them  with  that  wondrous  weird  tale  of  the 
woman  with  red  hair  and  ghastly  complexion  whom 
she  had  woke  up  in  the  night  to  see  in  the  moon- 
light leaning  in  at  the  window  casement,  and  heard 
call  thrice  for  a  horse ;  which  happened  when  she 
and  Sir  Richard  lay  at  the  Lady  Honor  O'Brien's, 
in  Ireland.  I  had  heard  her  relate  it  before,  but 
methinks  I  could  hear  it  many  times  as  she  tells  it 
and  never  fail  to  shudder  thereat. 

November  30. 

Great  hath  been  our  joy  at  the  Gray  House  these 
last  few  days,  for  our  dear  kinswoman,  Lady  Fan- 
shawe's,  unwearying  efforts  in  addressing  the  Lord 
Protector  on  her  husband's  behalf  have  been  crowned 
with  success  at  last,  and  he  has  been  released  on  bail. 
Dr.  Bathurst,  who  is  physician  to  Cromwell  as  well 
as  to  us  and  the  Fanshawe  family,  gave  him  a  certifi- 
cate that  he  would  come  near  to  die  of  the  scurvy  if 
he  lay  much  longer  in  the  close  little  prison  at 
Whitehall. 

He  is  lodged  with  us  till  such  time  as  he  journeys 


316  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

to  the  Bath  for  his  scorbutic.  'Twas  a  touching 
sight  to  see  his  wife  and  little  daughter's  delight  at 
greeting  him.  Nan  went  nigh  wild.  Methinks  no 
man  was  ever  so  well  loved  by  his  relatives  and 
friends  as  is  this  most  kind  and  gallant  gentleman. 
Troops  of  them  come  daily  to  visit  him  here,  and  to 
congratulate  him  on  having  gotten  loose.  Alphonse 
hath  killed  the  fatted  calf,  and  more  company  have 
dined  and  supped  with  us  than  ever  heretofore. 
The  discourse  is  very  lively,  and  much  of  books  and 
authors. 

Mr.  John  Evelyn,  a  cousin  of  Sir  Richard's,  has 
come  out  of  Paris  recently.  During  the  wars  he 
travelled  over  Europe,  and  he  hath  a  great  interest 
for  all  that  concerns  art  and  music,  and  rare  manu- 
scripts and  intaglios  such  as  Gabriel  collects.  He 
talked  of  his  translation  of  Lucretius,  and  Sir 
Richard  said  so  long  as  he  has  leisure,  for  the  present 
he  will  employ  it  in  turning  into  Latin  verse 
Fletcher's  '  Faithful  Shepherdess,'  to  make  known  in 
other  countries  that  pearl  of  pastorals,  as  he  called  it. 


XIV 

Tuesday,  May  29,  1660. 

COMING  in  this  day  from  witnessing  such  rejoicings 
as  belike  have  never  before  been  in  London  town, 
I  was  so  stirred  that  I  methought  me  of  my  old 
journal,  and  took  it  forth  from  the  chest  where  it  has 
lain  now  for  years — most  of  those  years,  indeed, 
during  which  we  lived  under  a  Protectorate  and  the 
rule  of  a  usurper. 

As  I  turned  over  the  pages  to  see  if  there  was  yet 
some  space  left  whereon  to  write,  they  seemed  as  a 
tale  that  is  told.  But  though  the  '  march  of  events  ' 
that. I  set  out  to  record  in  this  book  soon  after  my 
marriage  has  gone  on  bringing  changes  till  it  hath 
wrought  to-day  the  most  wondrous  change  of  all, 
methinks  my  own  life  has  little  altered. 

I  still  dwell  in  this  fair  home,  happy  in  the  un- 
changing affection  and  goodness  of  my  husband ;  and 
if  God  has  blessed  me  with  but  one  child,  he  is  a 
jewel  beyond  price,  grown  in  beauty  and  wisdom  as 
he  hath  in  stature,  and  I  have  been  spared  the  pain 
[3i7] 


3i8  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

of  bearing  sweet  babes  but  to  lose  them,  which  sorrow 
hath  befallen  my  sisters  and  my  brothers'  wives,  and 
many  times  my  dear  Lady  Fanshawe. 

My  Sir  Oracle's  hair  is  white  as  snow,  but  his 
eyes  have  ever  the  keen  young  look  in  them.  As  we 
stood  by  our  dear  lady  to-day  in  the  Strand,  where 
her  niece  Fanshawe  lies,  to  see  the  King's  splendid 
entry  with  his  brothers,  the  Dukes  of  York  and 
Gloucester,  she  declared  that  I  yet  might  be  taken 
for  my  husband's  daughter  and  Laurel's  younger 
sister.  Sister  maybe,  but  younger  sister  I  would  not 
allow,  though  'tis  true  time  hath  given  my  poor 
Laurel  the  air  of  carrying  about  with  her  some 
hidden  trouble  which  hath  robbed  her  brown  beauty 
of  its  youthful  roundness  and  brilliance.  Yet,  for 
all  that,  her  face  is  none  the  less  lovely  for  being 
thoughtful,  and  to  me  it  hath  a  charm  now  that  it 
did  not  possess  in  her  merry  youth.  People  wonder 
much  that  Laurel  is  still  a  maid. 

The  seven  years  that  Sir  Richard  and  Lady  Fan- 
shawe were  in  England,  being  all  that  time  under 
constraint  more  or  less  from  the  regicides,  we  had 
them  often  with  us  here  in  Chancery  Lane.  But  they 
preferred  the  country  to  the  town ;  and  Laurel  was 
with  them  and  their  three  children  at  Tankersley 
Park,  a  seat  of  my  Lord  Strafford's  in  Yorkshire, 
where  they  planted  fruit-trees,  and  Sir  Richard  trans- 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  319 

lated  the  '  Lusiade '  of  De  Camoens.  'Twas  there 
they  lost  their  dearly-beloved  ten-year-old  daughter 
Nan,  who  was  so  tall  and  witty  for  her  years — the  dear 
companion  of  her  mother's  travels  and  sorrows,  as 
she  often  said.  She  died  of  the  small-pox ;  and  there 
is  another  little  Nan  now,  but  methinks  she  can 
never  quite  take  the  place  of  the  first  in  her  mother's 
heart. 

After  the  death  of  the  Lord  Protector  Cromwell, 
which  happened  appropriately  enow  on  a  stormy 
September  night,  when  so  fierce  a  tempest  raged 
that  oaks  and  elms  were  uprooted  and  houses  blown 
down,  Sir  Richard  applied  for  release  from  his  bail, 
and  under  pretence  of  becoming  tutor  to  a  young 
nobleman  on  his  travels,  he  was  allowed  to  leave 
England.  The  exiled  King  appointed  him  Master 
of  the  Requests  and  Latin  Secretary.  He  sent  for 
his  lady  to  bring  the  children  to  Paris  for  their 
education  last  summer,  but  her  cousin,  Henry 
Neville,  one  of  the  High  Court  of  Justice,  refused  to 
grant  her  a  passport. 

This  refusal,  however,  did  not  daunt  my  courageous 
friend's  spirit.  Ready  to  sail  by  the  next  tide,  she 
hastened  to  Wallingford  House,  the  office  where  they 
gave  passes.  Clad  in  a  plain  habit  and  assuming 
a  very  humble  mien  and  vulgar  mode  of  speech,  she 
did  desire  to  be  given  a  pass  for  Paris  to  go  to  her 


320  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

husband.  '  Woman,  what  is  your  husband  and  your 
name  ?'  she  was  asked,  and  replied  with  many  cour- 
tesies :  '  He  is  a  young  merchant,  and  my  name  is 
Anne  Harrison.'  She  was  told  'twould  cost  her  a 
crown.  '  A  great  sum  for  me  to  pay,  truly,  but  pray 
put  down  a  man,  my  maid,  and  three  children,'  she 
answered.  And  the  fellow  gave  her  the  pass  filled 
in  as  she  wished,  assuring  her  that  a  malignant 
would  gladly  have  paid  him  five  pounds  for  it.  How 
radiant  with  triumph  she  looked,  her  fair  curls 
escaped  from  her  hood,  as  she  came  to  me  here  in 
the  carnation  closet  waving  the  pass  high  up  in  the 
air,  and  exclaiming :  '  I  was  in  despair,  but  I  prayed, 
and  God  put  this  into  my  head  !  A  pen,  Lovejoy — 
a  pen !'  I  handed  her  my  quill,  and  with  deft  strokes 
she  made  the  great  H  of  Harrison  into  ff,  and  the 
rr's  an  «,  and  the  i  an  s,  and  the  s  an  h,  and  the  o 
an  a,  and  the  n  a  w.  She  then  hired  a  barge,  and 
we  all  went  to  the  Stairs  with  her  to  wish  her  and 
her  little  family  God-speed.  Afterwards  she  wrote 
that  at  Dover  the  searchers  had  demanded  her  pass, 
and,  after  scanning  it,  had  said  :  '  Madam,  you  may  go 
where  you  please.'  But  one  added  :  '  I  little  thought 
they  would  give  a  pass  to  so  great  a  malignant, 
especially  in  so  troublesome  a  time.'  And  so  she 
got  safely  to  Calais. 

Wonderful  are  Anne's  nimble  wits  and  resource- 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  321 

fulness  in  emergency,  and  her  buoyancy  withal,  so  that 
one  who  saw  her  bright  face  beaming  from  its  festal 
bravery  in  that  gala  crowd  for  the  first  time  this 
morning  might  well  think  she  had  known  naught  of 
griefs  and  trials  and  separations  from  the  gallant 
statesman  and  scholar,  her  adored  husband,  who 
hath  come  home  with  the  King  to  enjoy  high 
honours  and  His  Majesty's  favour,  of  which  none, 
truly,  is  more  deserving  than  he.  The  devoted  pair, 
pray  God,  may  now  never  be  parted  more. 

She,  being  our  ever  true  kinswoman  and  friend, 
although  she  only  arrived  in  London  on  Sunday 
night  at  a  house  in  the  Savoy,  did  hurry  immediately 
to  the  Gray  House  to  tell  me  of  their  wondrous 
voyage.  I  cannot  refrain  from  repeating  her 
description,  so  vivid,  so  joyous — 'twas  so  full  of  the 
new  hopes  that  have  been  born  in  our  long  distracted 
country. 

'  Who  can  express  the  joy  and  gallantry  of  that 
voyage  ?'  said  she.  '  To  see  so  many  great  ships,  the 
best  in  the  world ;  to  hear  the  trumpets  and  all  other 
music ;  to  see  near  a  hundred  brave  vessels  sail  before 
the  wind  with  vast  cloths  and  streamers,  the  neatness 
and  cleanness  of  the  decks,  the  strength  and  jollity  of 
the  mariners,  the  gallantry  of  the  commanders,  the 
vast  plenty  of  all  sorts  of  provisions ;  but,  above  all, 
the  glorious  majesties  of  the  King  and  his  two 

21 


322  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

brothers,  were  so  beyond  man's  expectation  and 
expression.  The  sea  was  calm,  the  moon  shone  at 
full,  and  the  sun  suffered  not  a  cloud  to  hinder  his 
prospect  of  the  best  sight,  by  whose  light  and  the 
merciful  bounty  of  God  the  King  was  set  safely  on 
shore ;  and  so  great  were  the  acclamations  and 
numbers  of  people  that  it  reached  like  one  street 
from  Dover  to  Whitehall/ 

Her  words,  perforce,  made  me  see  it  all  with  her 
eyes  as  plain  as  I  saw  with  my  own,  standing  beside 
her,  to-day's  great  spectacle.  Twenty  thousand 
horse  and  foot  brandishing  their  swords  and  shouting 
with  joy;  the  flower-strewed  streets  hung  with 
tapestry ;  fountains  running  with  wine ;  the  Mayor 
and  Aldermen  and  all  their  company  in  their  liveries 
and  chains  of  gold ;  the  lords  and  nobles  dazzling  in 
cloth  of  gold,  silver,  and  velvet ;  the  windows  and 
balconies  crowded  with  fair  women,  laughing  down 
on  the  black-haired  King,  with  his  beetle-brows  and 
gracious  smiles,  his  jewels  and  gold  lace  aflash  in  the 
May  sunlight.  The  King  who  hath  passed  his  youth 
on  battlefields,  in  wanderings  and  exile,  happily 
restored  to  the  throne,  without  one  drop  of  bloodshed, 
by  the  same  rebel  army  that  brought  his  father  of 
blessed  memory  to  the  block.  What  a  mightily  mar- 
vellous thing  'tis  to  reflect  on  !  It  makes  one  feel  to 
be  living  in  a  romance,  methinks,  rather  than  in  real 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  323 

life.  As  on  my  bridal  day,  looking  on  the  sullen 
faces  that  lined  the  streets,  I  had  asked  my  husband 
where  all  the  loyal  folk  were  hiding,  so  to-day  I 
might  have  inquired  where  the  disloyalists  were,  for 
not  one  was  to  be  seen  in  all  those  happy,  shouting 
multitudes.  In  troth,  this  is  the  swinging  back  of 
the  pendulum  at  last,  that  my  Sir  Oracle  prophesied 
near  seventeen  years  ago.  General  Monk,  who 
expelled  the  '  Rump  '  at  Candlemas,  and  made  way 
for  the  Free  Parliament  that  voted  His  Majesty's 
restoration,  hath  been  but  the  accidental  instrument 
in  the  hand  of  God. 

I  had  writ  so  far  when  I  laid  down  my  quill,  for 
Laurel  came  softly  in,  and,  kneeling  by  me,  said : 

'  Mother,  read  this.' 

She  laid  a  missive  on  my  lap  in  the  handwriting  of 
Mistress  Margaret — now  Mistress  Halkett,  she  having 
wed,  some  years  back,  an  Anabaptist  preacher  of  that 
name. 

'  MISTRESS  LAUREL, 

'  Fain  would  I  double  your  gladness  on  this,  for 
you,  auspicious  day.  Hugh  1' Estrange  is  again  in 
London.  He  sought  me  out,  and  I  have  had  long 
converse  with  him.  His  great  love  for  yourself, 
Mistress  Laurel,  is  undying.  Long  ago  "  his  enemy 

21 — 2 


324  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

was  delivered  into  his  hands  ";  but  the  Lord  softened 
his  heart,  and  in  the  Hopital  de  Charite'  in  Paris, 
where  he  lay  destitute  and  at  the  point  of  death, 
Hugh  was  reconciled  with  his  father  and  closed  his 
eyes.  Thus  the  Lord  saw  fit  to  dispel  that  sore 
weight  of  dark  thoughts  of  vengeance  that  had  so 
burdened  and  embittered  his  soul,  setting  up  a  barrier 
'twixt  him  and  you. 

'  He  knows  not  that  I  write  this  to  you,  but,  perforce, 
I  must  do  it.  He  would  never  approach  you  un- 
invited, being  so  exceeding  modest,  notwithstanding 
that  the  dials  he  hath  designed  and  set  up  abroad, 
especially  one  in  the  garden  of  a  Duke  in  Italy,  have 
brought  him  great  renown.  And  'tis  likely  my 
father  will  have  the  dial  on  order  for  the  privy 
garden  at  Whitehall  fashioned  after  his  old  prentice's 
designing. 

'  Pardon  my  boldness,  Mistress  Laurel,  in  thus 
advising  you  of  Hugh's  return,  because  it  may  be  for 
but  a  short  while  that  he  tarries  here,  and  if  he  came 
and  went  and  you  saw  him  not,  methinks  you  would 

be  sorry. 

'  MARGARET  HALKETT.' 

Whilst  I  read  these  lines  Laurel's  eyes  rested  on 
the  '  Miracle  of  St.  Olave,'  which  Silence  had  wrought 
so  ingeniously,  with  myriad  strands  of  glowing  silk 
and  threads  of  gold. 


AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY  325 

'  Not  for  her  sake  now,  mother,'  said  she,  *  but  for 
my  own.  I  am  glad,  so  glad,  that  Hugh  has  come 
back.' 

The  reflection  from  the  bonfires  blazing  along  the 
streets  and  from  the  heights  around  was  on  her  face 
as  she  lifted  it  to  mine,  and  gave  a  ruddy  tinge  to 
the  nut-brown  hair.  In  her  eyes  was  that  old  look 
of  melting  tenderness,  which  long  ago  was  wont  only 
to  visit  them  at  sight  or  mention  of  him  who  had 
been  so  shining  and  chivalrous  a  figure,  endowed  with 
such  rare  gifts  of  mind  and  body,  him  who  was  be- 
loved by  men  and  women  alike,  the  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
of  his  time.  Yet  no  glorious,  gallant  end  was  his. 
Broken  in  health  and  fortunes,  scorning  to  live  on 
the  charity  of  his  friends,  but  unable  to  live  without 
it,  he  shunned  their  company,  and  gradually  sank 
into  penury  and  despair.  In  some  shabby  haunt  of 
thieves,  debtors,  and  mendicants  the  loyal  soldier-poet, 
the  admired  author  of  '  Lucasta,'  breathed  his  last, 
little  more  than  a  year  before  this  happy  restoration 
of  His  Majesty  Charles  II.,  for  whose  father  he  did 
suffer  all  manner  of  reverses,  except  that,  belike,  he 
most  coveted — death  on  the  field. 

'  Nought  is  there  under  heaven's  wide  hollowness 
That  moves  more  dear  compassion  of  mind 
Than  beauty  brought  to  unworthy  wretchedness.' 

Well  might  these  words  .of  Master  Spenser  have 


326  AN  OLD  LONDON  NOSEGAY 

come  into  my  mind  that  day  when  in  the  street  I 
was  about  to  offer  alms  to  one  I  took  to  be  a  beggar, 
and  on  looking  nearer,  to  my  pitiful  dismay,  I  re- 
cognised in  the  gaunt  features  and  wasted  form  the 
Cavalier  of  once  surpassing  grace,  Richard  Love- 
lace. 

The  softness  in  Laurel's  eyes  was  not  for  him  to- 
night. Methinks  the  bright  image  so  long  imprinted 
on  it  hath  for  ever  faded  from  her  heart,  and  it 
yearns  alone  for  her  foster-brother. 


THE    END 


BILLING   AND   SONS,    LTD.,    PRINTERS,    GUJLL-KORD 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  SIEGE  OF  YORK 

A  STORY  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THOMAS,  LORD  FAIRFAX 
With  Eight  Illustrations.      55. 

'  The  spirit  of  historic  romance  has  descended  in  full  measure  on 
Beatrice  Marshall.' — Church  Times. 

'  Tells  of  a  writer  to  whom  all  the  events  of  the  stirring  period  are 
familiar.  The  characters  are  well  drawn  and  the  situations  cleverly 
devised  and  worked  up.' — Glasgow  Herald. 

'A  real  accession  to  the  literary  art  of  our  day.  ...  It  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  be  able  to  recommend  to  our  readers  a  work  so  thoroughly 
excellent  from  every  standpoint.' — Literary  World. 


OLD  BLACKFRIARS 

IN  THE  DAYS  OF  VAN  DYCK.     A  STORY 
With  Eight  Illustrations.     $s. 

'A  very  charming  story  of  town  and  country  life  in  the  years  pre- 
ceding the  Civil  War.' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

'  Full  of  colour  and  interest.' — Academy. 

'  It  is  very  pleasant  to  find  that  Mrs.  Marshall's  talent  for  writing 
charming  historical  tales  descends  to  her  daughter.  Much  careful 
study  of  the  history  of  the  reign  has  gone  to  make  the  delicate 
mosaic  of  the  story.  And  the  illustrations  are  perfectly  charm- 
ing. ' — Guardian . 

.      EMMA    MARSHALL 

A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 
With  Portraits  and  other  Illustrations.     Second  Edition.    6s. 

'  The  daughter's  work  has  many  of  the  mother's  qualities  .  .  . 
indeed  a  worthy  tribute  to  a  pure,  unselfish  memory.' — Daily 
Chronicle. 

'  We  have  read  every  line  of  Miss  Marshall's  very  pleasing  sketch 
of  her  mother's  strenuous,  admirable  life  with  interest  and  pleasure. 
It  is  so  simple  and  unaffected,  and  gives  us  so  much  detail  that  is 
unobtrusively  illuminative  of  a  brave,  good  fight,  that  it  is  a  distinctly 
valuable  contribution  to  the  biographical  literature  of  to-day. ' — 
Vanity  Fair. 

LONDON:  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LTD.,  38  GREAT  RUSSELL  ST. 


'  Mrs.  Marshall's  imaginative  pictures  of  the  England  of  other  days 
are  in  reality  prose  boems.' — LITERATURE. 

Stories  by  Mrs.   Marshall 

UNDER  THE  DOME  OF  ST.  PAUL'S.  A  Story  of 
Sir  Christopher  Wren's  Days.  With  Illustrations  by  T.  HAMILTON 
CRAWFORD.  Fifth  Thousand.  55. 

IN  THE  CHOIR  OF  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.     A 

Story  of  Henry  Purcell's  Days.   With  Illustrations  by  T.  HAMILTON 
CRAWFORD.     Fifth  Thousand.     55. 

THE  PARSON'S  DAUGHTER:  AND  How  SHE  WAS 
PAINTED  BY  MR.  ROMNEY.  A  Story.  With  Illustrations.  55. 

A  HAUNT  OF  ANCIENT  PEACE.  A  Story  of 
Nicholas  Ferrar's  House  at  Little  Gidding.  Fourth  Thousand.  55. 

THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MUSICIANS.  A  Story  of 
Handel's  Days.  With  Illustrations.  Sixth  Thousand.  55. 

KENSINGTON  PALACE  :  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  QUEEN 
MARY  II.  With  Illustrations.  Sixth  Thousand.  55. 

PENSHURST   CASTLE:    IN    THE    TIME    OF  SIR 

PHILIP  SIDNEY.     With  Illustrations.      Fifth  Thousand.     55. 

IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  RACHEL,  LADY  RUSSELL. 
With  Illustrations.  Fourth  Thousand.  55. 

WINIFREDE'S    JOURNAL.      A   Story  of  Exeter  and 

Norwich  in  the  Days  of  Bishop  Hall.     With  Illustrations.    Fifth 
Thousand.     35.  6d. 

WINCHESTER  MEADS  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  BISHOP 
KEN.  With  Illustrations.  Eighth  Thousand.  55. 

UNDER  SALISBURY  SPIRE:  IN  THE  DAYS  OF 
GEORGE  HERBERT.  With  Illustrations.  Thirteenth  Thou- 
sand. 55. 

ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  OUSE.  A  Tale  of  the  Times 
of  Newton  and  Cowper.  With  Illustrations.  Sixth  Thousand. 
35.  6d. 

IN  FOUR  REIGNS.  The  Recollections  of  ALTHEA 
ALLINGHAM.  With  Illustrations.  Sixth  Thousand.  55. 

UNDER  THE  MENDIPS.     With  Illustrations.     Seventh 

Thousand.     5s. 
IN   THE    EAST   COUNTRY    WITH    SIR   THOMAS 

BROWNK,  KNIGHT.    \VithIilustrations.    Sixth  Thousand.    53. 

IN  COLSTON'S  DAYS.  A  Story  of  Old  Bristol.  With 
Illustrations.  Sixth  Thousand.  53. 


LONDON  :  SEELEY  AND  CO.,  LTD.,  38  GREAT  RUSSELL  ST. 


000130075     5 


